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BY 
THEODOR MUNDT,. 


AUTHOR OF ‘ ROBESPIERRE,”’ ‘THE MATADOR,” “*NO DIVORCE,” “‘CARMOLA; OR, THE REBAPTIZED,” 





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NEW YORK: 


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1868. 


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CONTENTS. 





THE FRIENDS AT AUTEUIL. 
PAGE 
Cap. I.—The Country-Seat of Madame Helvetius, 5 
II.—Mirabean’s Dog and Helvetius’s Cat, 16 
I11.—Henriette Van Haren, . * ee 
IV.—Mirabeau and Henriette, . ° 32 
V.—The Mysterious Child, . ° - & 





“THE WEDDING OF FIGARO.” 


VI.—Madame de Nehra, . . , 41 
Vil.—The Two Intrigues, . . . 49 
VIIL.—A Walk through London, . ‘ 59 





GENEVA AND PARIS. 


IX.—The Geneva Fugitives in London, . 
X.—The Arcades of the Palais-Royal, . 

XI.—The Queen’s Diamonds, A ° 
XII.—Count Cagliostro and his Wife, . 

XIii.—The Spirit-Dinner, ‘ . ° 


eSReSs 





THE SWINDLERS. 


XIV.—A Morning at Saint-Cloud, . * 101 
XV.—The Parliament and the Queen, . 105 
XVI.—The Wife of the Minister of Finance, 110 
XVII.—The Banquet of the American Club, 116 
XVIII.—The Mission to Berlin, . > 125 





MIRABEAU IN BERLIN. 


XIX.—The Journey from Paris to Berlin,  . 130 
XX.—The Message to Sans-Souci, $ 133 
XXI.—Mirabeau’s Visit to Frederick the 
Great, . . 187 
XXII.—The Chinese Magic Lantote: ‘ 143 
XXIII.—The Death of Frederick the Great, . 151 





Cuap. XXTV.—Prussia and Miravean, 
XXV.—An Audience with M. von 
Bischoffswerder, . A 





THE YEAR 1789. 
XXVI.—Mirabeau’s Cloth-Store, 
XXVITI.—Bread and Meat, : 
XXVIlII.—The Deputy of the Third Estate, 
XXIX.—The Procession of the Three 





Estates, 186 
THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 
XXX.—The Fifth of May, ; - 195 
XXXI.—The Walk in Trianon, oo AD 
XXXII.—The Marquis Victor secre 

de Mirabeau, - 206 
XXXIII.—The First Republicans, eg: b 
XXXIV.—A Coffin, . 218 





166 
171 
182 


XXXV.—The Conflict sound the Bastile, 220 

XXXVI.—Louis XVI. and Marie An- 
toinette, . : 227 

THE LAST DAYS OF MIRABEAU. 

XXXVII.—The Aristocrats, . 286 
XXXVIII.—Madame Le Jay and the Veto, 243 
XXXIX.—The October Days, AT 

XL.—Mirabeau’s Journey to the 
Queen, . » 255 
XLI.—The Savior of the ‘Monarchy, 257 
XLII.—Mirabeau and the Jacobins, 259 
XLITI.—Henriette, A : - 264 
XLIV.—The Poison, . 263 
XLY.—The Death of Mirabeau, | - 220 


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CHAPTER I. 


THE COUNTRY-SEAT OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 


At the entrance of the Bois de Boulogne, 
searcely a mile from Paris, is the village of Au- 
teuil, containing the celebrated country-seat for- 
merly owned by the poet Boileau, and in which 
the later proprietors received the most celebrated 
men of France. For thirteen years it was occu- 
pied by Madame Helvetius, one of the most amia- 
ble women of her country, who had bought the 
property after the death of her husband, the 
She had 


made the villa a social rendezvous for her more 


famous freethinker and philosopher. 


immediate friends, and also for those who were in- 
fluential or distinguished in Paris. In this un- 
pretending and peaceful residence had been estab- 
lished a learned and very interesting society, but 
which the government of France considered very 
dangerous, though controlled by the gentle influ- 
ence of a woman, who displayed her authority 
only by promoting the happiness of her guests, 
and rendering them more intimate. 

Since the days of Madame Geoffrin, who, for 
nearly half a century, fostered all native and for- 
eign genius in Paris, there was no social circle to 





be compared with that of Madame Helvetius at 
Auteuil, 
seminated by Claude Adrien Helvetius in his cel- 
ebrated work “Of the Mind”—a production 
violently attacked by the clergy and the Parlia- 


Its members entertained the ideas dis- 


ment, and at last burned by the publig execu- 
tioner. Helvetius’s friends, who, like Diderot and 
Baron d’Holbach, had aided in the composition 
of this work, remained faithful to the philosophy | 
of its reputed author, and his widow truly and 
lovingly revered his memory. Younger men had 
associated themselves with them, as the Marquis 
de Condorcet, the amiable and witty Chamfort, 
the physician Cabanis, who for some time had 
made Auteuil his home, and, latterly, Count Ga- 
briel Riquetti de Mirabeau, introduced by Cham- 
fort, and from whom great things were expected. 

The rural drawing-room of Madame Helvetius, 
in which, as we have intimated, affairs were often 
discussed that at Versailles seemed very sus- 
picious, was consecrated by the apparent inno- 
cence of its proprictor; for she united cheerful- 
ness, grace, and intellect, with childlike goodness 
of heart, which made itself felt at every opportu- 
nity, and exerted on all about her a mild and — 
happy influence. The extraordinary beauty of 
her youth had not yet disappeared. Her expres 


6 COUNT MIRABEAU. 


sive eyes fascinated those on whom their glances 
fell; and if Elise Helvetius, in the exciting con- 
versations of her company, appeared as the guid- 
ing spirit who revealed that soon something new 
and great must occur to save the French nation 
from degeneracy and ruin, she presently assumed 
a bantering and merry tone, and, by her quick 
repartees and charming fancies, banished the po- 
litical anxiety and gravity of her friends, Her 
person was tall, and her presence imposing. In 
her outward bearing she never permitted that her 
aristocratic origin should be forgotten—that she 
was the daughter of the Count de Ligneville, 
while a certain idyllic naturalness of manner 
manifested her preference for country life and 
occupation. 

This remarkable woman had added, as if by 
contrast, a sort of background to her polished 
and philosophic drawing-room ; for she cultivated 
a farm, to which she herself industriously at- 
tended. It was, however, her poultry-yard upon 
which she bestowed especial care, daily spending 
several hours with her chickens, ducks, and 
geese. Her goldfinches received extraordinary 
favor, and their training was greatly admired. 
Singin@birds hung in decorated cages on the 
outer walls of the house, often interrupting the 
conversation within by their warbling songs. 
There was also no lack of cats and dogs in this 
country-seat; and, next to her birds, Madame 


Helvetius loved her cats, making great pets of. 


them, She surrounded herself also with rare 
varieties of other animals, and the complete 
harmony that reigned in her family was regarded 
with wonder by her friends, who ascribed it to 
some magic charm which she exerted over all 
around her. 

On this first day of our narrative, Madame 
Helvetius withdrew sooner than usual from her 
favorite employment, which occupied so consid- 
erable a portion of her mornings, as preparation 
had to be made for the reception of guests whom 
she expected at dinner. Two motives had in- 
sees her to send invitations for this particular 
‘day. The celebrated Dr. Benjamin Franklin, for 
many years one of her particular admirers, was 





to dine at the villa, which more especially de- 
lighted her other friends, because the public 
demonstrations and attentions with which Frank- 
lin had been overwhelmed during his second so- 
journ in Paris, had made private social inter- 
course with him somewhat difficult. ; 
The preliminaries for the acknowledgment of 
the independence of the United States of Ameri- 
ca bad been signed by the plenipotentiaries of 
Great Britain as well as by Franklin, represent- 
ing his native country, the preceding year (1788); 
and now the full and formal recognition of those 
States produced much excitement among the 
In every quarter the effect of this 
national admission of the right of a people to 


Parisians. 


change or modify their government was deeply 
felt, and it was the fashion of the time to load 
the venerable Franklin with distinguished honors. 
By reason of his popularity, Madame Helvetius 
had therefore to make great’ efforts to secure his 
presence for this day, which for.a particular rea- 
son her good-natured and amiable coquetry had 
chosen. She was to celebrate her sixty-fifth birth- 
day, and she wished thus to remind Franklin of 
her age; for his friendship for her had increased 
until he had made her an offer of his hand. She 
desired him, therefore, to join in a celebration 
which delicately declared her reluctance to a new 
marriage. 

Dr, Franklin, who was already entering his 
seventy-eighth year, had wooed the amiable 
widow of Helvetius, when, eight years before, 
Elise had 
then assured him, with her natural frankness, 


he visited Paris for the first time. 


that she would on no account marry him. This 
declaration she firmly repeated when he renewed 
his offer, although their friendship remained un- 
interrupted. Franklin had had a rival in Turgot, 
the former minister of Louis XVI; but death 
had removed this noble competitor, and the cheer- 
ful old man, on his return to Paris, reappeared in 
the lists of love. 

Although Madame Helvetius intended thus to 
give prominence to the fact of her advanced age, 
she could not resist a very interesting temptation 
in reference to her toilet, with which she began 


THE COUNTRY-SEAT OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 7 


gravely to occupy herself. At the moment when 
she considered it her duty to discourage her old 
lover, she yielded to the fancy of rendering her- 
self as attractive as possible by appropriating the 
style of head-dress which had lately been made 
fashionable by the young Queen Marie Antoinette. 
Until now Elise had been faithful in imitating the 
toilets of the regency, and as she had always ap- 
peared well in them, she did not hesitate to retain 
them even in her old age. The gold powder on 
her beautiful blond hair had always made an ir- 
resistible impression, and the hoop she by no 
means despised, as well as the patches, sprinkled 
with diamond dust, that were worn on the face. 
Now, however, in a merry humor, she arranged 
her coiffure differently, which, of course, required 
an entire revolution in the rest of her dress. 
This was the “‘ coiffwre ad la jardiniére,” which M. 
Leonard, the celebrated hair-dresser of the queen, 
had invented. It consisted of a cloth raised very 
high, artistically folded and twisted, and sur- 
rounded with vegetables of various kinds, such 
as small artichokes, cabbages, carrots, and tur. 
nips. With the assistance of her maid, she com- 
pleted her toilet, and stood laughingly before the 
mirror, to criticise her appearance, but found no 
reason to be dissatisfied with it. The new mode 
seemed to please her so well that she was about 
attempting some ingenious improvements, when 
the footman announced the arrival of two of her 
expected guests, 

Cabanis and Chamfort were the friends first in 
the drawing-room of Madame Helvetius, and they 
were both most cordially received. 

“We are taking advantage of the rights of 
good neighbors, in being impertinently punctu- 
al!” began Chamfort, approaching and respect- 
fully kissing the small white hand held out to him. 

“* Quite the contrary, gentlemen,” replied Ma- 
dame Helvetius, with her charming smile, “ I really 
do not find that you act as good neighbors and 
faithful friends. I always imagined that you had 
taken up your residence here at Auteuil, that I 
might enjoy your society. But when I invite you 
to a solemn dinner, is that any reason why you 
absent yourselves from our usual friendly and so- 





ciable breakfast? Is that right? Our good Dr. 
Cabanis may perhaps be excused, for he practises 
in the village, and is overrun with patients. But 
yet he ought to remember that I belong to the 
number, having appointed him my physician in 
ordinary. Why did you pay me no visit this 
morning, Dr. Cabanis?” She approached the 
young man, who was standing dreamily at the 
other end of the room, and, taking his hand and 
drawing him toward an easy-chair, she seated 
herself opposite, and motioned Chamfort to take 
a chair beside her. 

Cabanis was a man of scarcely twenty-seven 
years, appearing even younger on account of his 
slender figure, and of a fair, transparent com- 
plexion. At the same time his whole manner ex- 
pressed suffering, owing partly to the fatiguing 
studies to which he devoted himself, and partly 
to a nature prone to lose itself in subtle specula- 
tions. His friend Chamfort presented a peculiar 
contrast.’ He had passed his forty-second year. 
In person he was firm and powerful; his coun- 
tenance, surprisingly handsome; his regular fea- 
tures indicated as much intellect as amiability, 
the principal expression being that of an atirac- 
tive gentleness; yet they easily changed, indi- 
cating a biting sarcasm, wit, and quickness of 
apprehension. In his dress, Chamfort was, as 
usual, negligent, and even his linen was rather 
soiled. The invitation he had received, expressly 


| announced for a festive occasion, had not induced 


him. to correct his carelessness in that respect, 
which he ascribed to absence of vanity and in- 
difference to general society. On the other hand, 
Cabanis, who was always most carefully attired, 
seemed to have made it a point to honor the din- 
ner of his friend Madame Helvetius by a most 
elegant toilet. ‘‘ In fact,” said ‘Dr. Cabanis, with 
his somewhat melancholy smile, “during the 
whole morning I was engaged with a patient. A 
beginner like myself, who commences to practise 
in a small place, considers it quite an event when 
a poor woman has an inflammation, and he can at- 
tend to her, and at the same time procure bread 
for her hungry children.” 

“Yes, it is true, our friend Cabanis begins his 


8 : COUNT MIRABEAU. 


practice with all kinds of poor, fevered people,” 
Chamfort: interrupted, in his sarcastic manner. 
“He is a real child of the times, for that will soon 
be the principal occupation of the world, and 
especially in this hungry France.” 

“Tell me, dear Chamfort, where were you this 
morning?” replied Madame Helvetius, contem- 
plating him with friendly pleasure. ‘For if you 
cannot give a satisfactory excuse, I take it that 
you have broken an earnest compact with me. 
You came to Auteuil to be my guest, nay, to con- 
sider yourself as my boarder, only I could not find 
quarters for you in my small villa; but you ought 
to consider that an advantage, otherwise you 
would have been my prisoner, and I should have 
grudged every hour you passed elsewhere.” 

A glance of profound gratitude beamed in 
Chamfort’s eyes, and for a moment his features 
But 
suddenly recovering himself, he said, lightly: “I 


assumed their mild yet fervent expression. 


could not come this morning because I was busy 
with court interests. Not the court I wish always 
to pay you, my dearest lady, but that of Versailles 
—of their most Christian majesties King Louis 
XVI. and Queen Marie Antoinette. As friend 
Cabanis has been working for the poor sick peo- 
ple, so I have been at work for their superiors. 
Etienne Montgolfier was with me, and I assisted 
him in the preparations for his balloon, the new 
Their majesties have 
The 


whole court is to be here this afternoon to witness 


and wonderful invention. 
ordered him to let it ascend at Auteuil. 


the magnificent spectacle for the third time. 
They cannot enough admire an object that rises 
by its own weight. At Versailles no one can 
ascend unless with great difficulty, but Montgol 
fier’s machine demonstrates quite simply that it is 
very easy for any one, even without influence or 
intrigue, to rise to the clouds. The curious court 
have no presentiment that the ‘Montgolfiére’ is 
only the precursor of something that will move 
by-and-by in its own strength, and make good its 
pretensions to overlook the earth—I mean the 
‘people.’ Do they not resemble the balloon be- 
ginning to tremble with its own power of motion, 
ready to take flight at the first signal? These 





were the thoughts that occupied me while assist- 
ing my friend Montgolfier. It is also said that 
the Duke de Chartres will graciously take ‘an. air- 
voyage to-day. Is not my excuse sufficient, dear 
friend? Montgolfier intends paying his respects 
to you, and offering seats to yourself and all your 
company, to view the ascension?” 

“Ts it possible?” cried Madame Helvetius, in 
astonishment, naively clasping her hands. ‘t What 
news you announce to me in one breath! And 
all this without my knowledge happens in this 
small lantern-like Auteuil? Truly, I almost fan- 
cy myself a hermit in a forest hut, and feel quite 
solitary—as if, in fact, abandoned by all.” 

“T had imagined the contrary, noticing that 
new head-dress,” said Chamfort, pointing with a 
light motion of his hands to the ornaments on the 
lady’s head, and bowing as if paying her homage. 
“T thought our amiable friend had made her ar- 
rangements, festively to represent our Auteuil at 
the royal visit; for the toilet worn to-day by the 
fair widow of our great Helvetius is nothing more 
nor less than an acknowledgment of the prevail- 
ing fashions. But I must compliment you, ma- 
dame, and remark that it becomes you exceeding- 
ly, and aids in symbolizing most gracefully all your 
You 
your beautiful hair, for you are the representative 


charms. wear cabbages and carrots in 
of pure and noble nature, and your husband wrote 
‘Of the Mind’—now mind must always be the 
support of nature. But at court there is at pres- 
ent neither the one nor the other, and the vegeta- 
bles crowning proud heads have a bad effect and 
trouble the people.” 

“You are altogether too wicked, Chamfort,” 
replied Madame Helvetius, rather excitedly. 
“ How can you drag every thing into politics, 
even the innocent toilet of the ladies? In this 
He has 
never scolded me on account of my coiffure, and, I 


have no doubt, thinks it quite suitable that a 


instance I prefer my gentle Cabanis. 


country lady, such as I have become, should 
rather adorn herself with fresh vegetables from 
her garden than with enormous powdered curls.” 
“Tam inclined to acknowledge the new style 
of our friend in its highest signification,” cried 


THE COUNTRY-SEAT OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 9 


Cabanis, whose pale face was momentarily enliv- 
ened by a smile. “Isee the symbol of better 
times—of liberty and equality—if the fashions 
at Auteuil and. Versailles begin to assimilate. 
The very fact of the royal party coming to this 
village shows that extraordinary changes are at 
hand. Did you ever before hear of the king 
and queen visiting a place ignorant of court eti- 
quette ?—especially Auteuil, that has so bad a 
reputation with our rulers since we, people of 
enlightened views, have made our residence here ? 
And, as if to confirm some new bond of friend- 
ship, our lady-president has adopted the modes 
of Queen Marie Antoinette. This suggests de- 
cidedly some secret occurrences ; and, if I did not 
see Madame Helvetius’s truthful eyes, I could al- 
most fancy that treachery was at work, and that 
‘la Société libre des Egoistes, * as our circle of 
friends is called, is to be betrayed into the hands 
of our enemies.” 

Madame Helvetius, whose natural cheerfulness 
easily interpreted and patronized such pleasantry, 
interrupted it by hearty laughter, in which both 
the gentlemen joined. It was difficult to resist 
the contagion of her merriment. She seemed to 
possess all the unrestrained charm of youth. 

“That is really a good ideal” she said, still 
laughing. “The profound . oe that pos- 
sessed M. Cabanis on his first arrival at Auteuil 
seems already to have vanished, thanks to our 
pure atmosphere, and he has become quite a jo- 
cose character. But I must own,” she continued, 
more gravely, “that from day to day I feel my 
respect for Queen Marie Antoinette increasing. I 
am attracted by the naturalness that shows itself 
in all we hear of her. She is certainly a noble 
woman, aiming at that which is best and highest; 
and, if her influence alone governed the king, she 
would guide him in the path of right, and finally 
And is she not 
herself an advance champion of the new times, in 
her fight with the old dragon Etiquette? By 


her blooming youth and loveliness she has de- 


lead him back to his people. 


stroyed this monster. Has she not thus given the 





* The Free Society of Egotists. 





first blow to the aristocracy of France, who were 
always the origin ‘of what was most hurtful to 
society? That the king and queen with their 
suite come to such a place as Auteuil must be 
considered as a new victory the queen has gained 
over the old court party. She wishes all around 
her to have more liberty—to have less constraint 
forced upon them—she desires gradually to loosen 
the prejudices that weighed them down, and en- 
tirely separated them front the people and all na- 
tional life. She is benevolent and kind to all, 
and likes to assist in every new attempt to benefit 
and even to amuse the people. For the pension 
M. Etienne Montgolfier receives for his new in- 
vention he is indebted to her,” 

““T am another instance: of the queen’s conde- 
scension to struggling genius of the present day,” 
said Chamfort, with a curious expression of coun- 
tenance. “My tragedy, ‘Mustapha and Zeangir,’ 
was acted before the court at Fontainebleau afew 
weeks ago, and Marie Antoinette was so much 
delighted with it that she ordered the author an 
I had de- 


manded nothing, but could not very well refuse 


annuity of twelve hundred francs. 
the bounty of the beautiful young queen. I only 
heard of my unexpected fortune this morning, 
but at Paris it was known yesterday, and proved 
my misfortune, as the sequel will show. I con- 
cealed from you the fact that my tragedy was to 
be played yesterday, for the first“time in public, at 
the Théatre Frangais. , If you had known it, you 
would have had no rest, and permitted me none, 
until I took you to Paris; but you must acknowl- 
edge the correctness of my misgiving when I tell 
you that my production completely failed. At 
the conclusion, the audience drummed and hissed 
as if the last day had come for the poor author. 
The sad news I received this morning by express. 
The critics think that the play would not have 
been so harshly treated but for its extraordinary 
success at court. The author was punished at 
Paris for the queen’s favor. The voice of oppo- 
sition against the higher grades of society, and 
especially against Marie Antoinette, is becoming 
louder, and the public consider it a duty to con: 
demn what she applauds. Here I sit, with my 


10 


twelve hundred franes in my pocket, on the ruins 
of my first and last tragedy. Yet it is better 
than my comedies, particularly ‘L’Indienne’ and 
‘Le Marchand de Smyrne,’ which, notwithstand- 
ing their want of merit, seem to sustain them- 
selves on the stage. In my ‘Mustapha and Zean- 
gir’ I intended to give a sublime creation in the 
style of Racine, and that was a hypocritical fri- 
volity on my part, so that the condemnation of 
the piece is after all nothing but justice. No one 
has a right to assume what he cannot sincerely 
defend. The court rewarded me because they 
nursed the agreeable deception that the days of 
pathetic court tragedy had not yet passed, and 
that the national poets would again begin to war- 
ble with as much art, learning, and adulation, as 
during the despotic reign of Louis XIV. But the 
people, who are,becoming almost too acute, tore 
away my disguise, threw it into my face, and left 
me but the poor satisfaction of jingling my pen- 
sion in my pocket. Have I not received my de- 
serts ?” 

At this moment the conversation was inter- 
rupted by the noise of an approaching carriage. 
Madame Helvetius hastened to a window to see 
which of her guests were coming. 

“There is my old Franklin!” she exclaimed. 
“The one sitting at his side is the Marquis Con- 
dorcet—our ‘snow-covered Vulcan,’ as D’Alem- 
bert always called him. Opposite is Count Mira- 
beau. The latter is springing from the carriage 
to aid, with filial tenderness, Dr. Franklin; but 
the old man refuses all assistance to descend, and 
is proud of the youth of his seventy-seven years. 
How he is stamping on the ground after his ride, 
almost making it shake! See how straight and 
firm my old Benjamin still walks!” She could no 
longer restrain her impatience, but hurried to the 
entrance-hall, followed by Chamfort and Cabanis. 

Franklin, immediately on entering the house, 
beheld his old friend, and uttered a cry of joy. 
He clasped her tenderly to his heart; but the em- 
brace was so prolonged that Madame Helvetius 
withdrew herself half indignantly, pushing him 
somewhat forcibly away, that she might also 
greet Condorcet and Mirabeau. 





COUNT MIRABEAU, 


“Tt seems I am not so welcome as formerly to 
my friend Elise,” said Franklin, laughingly, as 
they entered the drawing-room. “I am not pér- 
mitted to retain her two minutes in my arms, even 
after so long an absence! Perhaps I am also ex- 
pected to apologize for appearing at her dinner in 
my plain dress, just as Iam received at Versailles. 
A dress which is, so to say, a part of myself, will 
I hope be equally tolerated at Auteuil.” Frank- 
lin pointed somewhat complaisantly to the gar- 
ments he was accustomed to wear. His brown 
cloth coat, already often recognized in Paris so- 
ciety, and his smooth silver hair and broad- 
brimmed hat, added to the peculiarity of his ap- 
pearance. His whole costume was that of an 
American farmer, and when it suddenly presented 
itself in the drawing-rooms of Paris and Versailles 
it contrasted forcibly with the embroidered and 
glittering vestments, and the powdered and high- 
ly-perfumed hair, demanded by the fashion of the 
times. His style was a novelty, and as such had 
great success, extending its charms particularly ~ 
to the ladies, who, at the brilliant festivals given 
in his honor, tried the most extraordinary and co- 
quettish arts to attract the attention of the trans- 
atlantic philosopher and apostle of liberty. 

Madame Helyetius looked at him so long and 
with such snail 
obliged to. acknowledge that he retained his old 
place in her heart. She herself took his hat, and 


ised pleasure, that Franklin was 


placed on his head his little leather cap, repeat- 
edly expressing her delight at seeing him again. 
Then she led him to a magnificent easy-chair near 
the hearth, which seemed to be placed there es- 
pecially for him, the back being decorated with 
wreaths of roses and laurels. 

Pu- 
rity and regularity of feature, such as are rarely 


Franklin was a very handsome old man, 


seen, were combined with wonderfully-preserved 
freshness and cheerfulness in his countenance, 
The classie outline 
of his head was slightly disturbed by the specta- 
cles that he never removed, yet they tended to 


His simplicity was sublime. 


increase the expression of deep thought which was 
his principal characteristic. 
“Nowhere else in the world do I feel so well 


THE COUNTRY-SEAT OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 


as at your house, my dear Elise,” said Franklin, 
looking pleasantly around. ‘Here dwell peace, 
cheerfulness, and freedom; and if I were not 
obliged to return to Philadelphia, where new-born 
state affairs need me, I would like to remain in 
Auteuil and take a share in Madame Helvetius’s 
pastoral life, if only as chicken-boy or goldfinch- 
overseer. What do you say, my friend, would 
you be willing to trust me with such work, and 
thus retain me here ?” 

All present laughed at the drollery with which 
Franklin made this.proposition to the dignified 
lady of the house, as he seized her hand at the 
same time and pressed it to his breast. 

“Oh, you would soon be weary here,” replied 
Madame Helvetius, blushing. “You are a great 
deal too young for the retired life I lead. You 
would wish to return to the scenes of your great 
deeds, where there is still much for you to do. 
And my society could not compensate you for 
your sacrifices; for I have grown an old woman, 
who to-day celebrates her sixty-fifth year.” 

“To-day!” exclaimed Franklin, rising with 
youthful alacrity, and intending to embrace Elise 
again; but her other friends pressed around her 
with congratulations, which she received with be- 
witching affability. She appeared to listen with 
peculiar favor to the obliging expressions of 
Count Mirabeau, who had but lately been received 
into this circle, but nevertheless reproached him- 
self for his negligence in not having noticed the 
date of such a festive day, saying that the birth- 
day of an amiable woman ought to be as well 
known to her friends as the saints’ days are to 
Christians, and that the short time during which 
he had been intimate at her house was no 
excuse. 

“You are a true Frenchman, and know how to 
make good use of your tongue,” said Franklin, 
approaching Mirabeau, and patting the young 
man’s thick locks with a familiarity which the 
philosopher sometimes condescended to. Count 
Mirabeau looked a little surprised, but recovered 
himself quickly, His face, inclined to express a 
gloomy satire, changed to the most considerate 
urbanity toward Franklin. 





11 


““Tt is more especially my fault that the birth- 
day of our friend was not known,” said the Mar- 
quis de Condorcet, a man of about forty years, 
from whose eyes beamed a decided kindliness of 
heart, while his high-arched brow and strongly-de- 
fined Roman nose, as well as slightly-compressed 
“T think,” 
he continued, in his good-natured self-accusation, 


lips, announced the mathematician. 


“‘as I am the accountant and mathematician par - 
excellence of this society, and am day and night 
engaged in all kinds of calculations, I ought not 
to have failed in that of the heart, and all my 
other computations ought to have ceased of their 
own accord on this day, which expresses the for- 
Well, do not on 
that account receive the congratulations of your 


raula of happiness for us all. 


friend Condorcet less kindly.” 

“Tt was exceedingly gallant of you all that you 
kept no reckoning with me!” said Madame Hel- 
vetius. “How happy I ought to be that you wish © 
me so well! Even Condorcet, who, in his sublime 
repose, generally appears like an ice-palace, has 
wafted toward me a warm breath from his con- 
cealed but loving heart. But now let us speak 
Dr. Franklin owes me a re- 
It is due to 
nothing but the delightful personality of Benja- 


of something else. 


port of his last triumphs in Paris. 


min Franklin that the Parisians are, as it were, 
intoxicated with American liberty, and behave in 
such a different manner.” 

“T have again been received very kindly in this 
wonderful Paris,” replied Franklin, stretching 
himself comfortably and smilingly in his chair. 
“The ladies gave me yesterday, at the Hotel de 
Ville, the most brilliant reception that I have 
ever been honored with. After I had found my- 
self as one of the blessed in Mohammed’s para- 
dise, the most beautiful among three hundred 
was chosen to show the sympathy of the French 
The 
choice fell upon the Countess Diana de Polignae, 


ladies for the liberty won by America. 


one of the highly-intellectual members of the 
court. She approached me with a laurel-wreath, 
and did not content herself with placing it on my 
white locks, but added two kisses, one on each 


of my cheeks. This was according to the pro- 


12 


gramme of the festival. You may fancy with 
what pleasure, as ambassador of independent 
America, I received those salutes, which were 
more than mere dispatches to be forwarded from 
Paris across the ocean.” * 

“ And how did the court like this demonstra- 
tion? ” asked Chamfort, with that sarcastic tinc- 
“Tt is said 
that the Countess Diana received a strange sort 
of reprimand from the king, if the story be true.” 

“Tt is said to be quite true,” replied Franklin, 
laughing, and rubbing his hands, as was his cus- 


ture characteristic of all his remarks. 


tom, when particularly pleased, and ending his 
sentence with the words “ Ca tra!” 

“You mean then to sanction the king’s con- 
duct,” said Chamfort, “ but his object was not so 
much to reprimand the countess, or to bring 
yourself into contempt, for he could not very well 
do that in reference to one of whom D’Alembert 
had written the splendid line: ‘ Hripuit clo ful- 
men sceptrumque tyrannis.’ + And doubtless the 
king remembered also that he who could defend 
himself from the thunderbolt would not prob- 
ably be overcome by a lady’s kisses.” 

“Had we not better change the subject ?” sug- 
gested Madame Helvetius, with some signs of im- 
patience. 

‘In alluding to the story at all,” replied Cham- 
fort, ‘‘ I merely meant to indicate the tone of 
court society, as well as the opposition of the 
_ king to such institutions as those represented by 
Franklin, whom of course he could not openly 
insult. 
allows free scope to her amiable levity, even 


The queen is much more frank. As she 


when contrary to etiquette, so she more prompt- 
ly shows her vexation at the sympathy felt for 
American liberty.” 

“You cannot deny,” said Franklin, rather 
solemnly, “that we Americans are beginning to 
infuse a little confidence into you Frenchmen. 
By our victorious struggle we have alarmed 
tyranny in all countries and among all peoples. 





* ‘Mémoires de Madame Campan,” vol. i., p. 233. 

+ ‘* He snatched from heaven the lightning, and from 
tyrants the sceptre.’”-—Vide Condorcet, ‘‘ Mémoires,” 
vol.i., p. 166. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


We owe it to God through our magnanimous 
Washington that we have been able to throw off 
the slavery which the British had imposed on a 
freeborn people, and that we are again men. 
But, next, we are indebted to the French. In the 
commencement of our revolution you gave us @ 
helping hand, and, excitable as you are, you won 
us favor among the nations of Europe, which 
very considerably weakened the determination 
and courage of England. You were the first 
power that, after our successful resistiince, entered 
into a defensive and commercial alliance with the 
new republic. Your best and noblest sons were 
among our warriors. Did you not send us Ro- 
chambeau, and that heroic youth Lafayette, to as- 
sist us in gaining the palm of freedom? Now it 
is our turn to be grateful to you. And how can 
we better show our gratitude than that we dis- 
seminate our ideas of national liberty, so that you 
may feel the desire to be and remain free? Yes, 
Frenchmen, you are beginning to be American- 
ized, and the whole world will at last follow our 
example. Mind what old Franklin says, ‘a new 
‘Ca ira!” | 


“Yes,” exclaimed Count Mirabeau, rising im- 


era is dawning.’ 


petuously, and standing before Franklin with an 
excited gesture,“ ‘It will go,’ for it will come! 
America has said to us,‘ (a ira /’ and this, your 
favorite expression, noble Franklin, which we 
receive from you as a significant invitation, will 
at a future time be one of the cries of French lib- 
We 
know what we owe you, but also what France 


erty, arousing the masses of our people. 


will have to owe to herself. In America the bells 
of freedom have already rung; and France, 
awakened, needs but remember herself, to rise 
from the sleep of slavery. It has been a long 
sleep ; but oppression is the natural school of 
liberty, and Paris is the principal seat of this 
learning for the modern world. In America, a 
nation with a great future relies on the strength 
of its citizens, and so far we regard it with envy 
and admiration. In France, however, philosophy 
has long been the teacher of liberty, first arming 
the mind to strike.. Oh, I remember the pro- 
found impression made on me in my dark prison, 


THE COUNTRY-SEAT OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 


on hearing the story of your struggles for inde- 
pendence! It seemed to me as if the whole tower 
of Vincennes, in which I was then incarcerated, 
opened to a flood of celestial light. Think of a 
man—for years imprisoned by the tyranny of a 
father who treated his children and subordinates 
as slaves—hearing for the first time, in his dark 
and lonely cell, of a whole people that had made 
itself free! 
misery that alternately agitated me. 
could not tolérate my unhappy destiny, and 


You can imagine the joy and the 
Patience 


to behold my prison walls was to render me a 
maniac. I thought what happiness it must be to 
become a soldier to aid the New World in throw- 
ing off the yoke of the Old, and I wrote to the 
Count de Maurepas for permission to go to Amer- 
I promised to die 


there, and begged, in the name of society, to 


ica and enter the service. 


place the reconciling breadth of the ocean between 
an unnaturally angry father and his son. But 
my complaints and prayers were unbeard, as 
those of so many besides, and I remained in soli- 
During those fearful nights I 


made resolutions that will extend over my whole 


tary confinement. 


‘life, and I swore to fight for France as I had de- 
sired to do for America. I thought of Montes- 
quieu, Voltaire, Mably, Rousseau, and I vowed to 
give the impulse in reducing to practice the 
work of those great minds,” * 

Franklin rose and stood leaning on his walking- 
stick, which he seldom laid aside, in an attentive- 
After Mirabeau had ended, 
Franklin gazed at him for a long time gravely 


ly listening attitude. 


and searchingly, seeming to review his body and 
soul, The powerful brow of Mirabeau was still 
glowing with the thoughts he had passionately 
expressed, and the hair, which crowned his head 
like a lion’s mane, almost seemed to sparkle with 
electricity. Franklin moved his small black cap 
a little, as if in token of an esteem which he 
could not repress, and then said in a heart-felt 
voice: ‘‘ Young man, you please me, and I shall 





* Montigny, ‘‘ Mémoires sur Mirabeau,” vol. ii., p. 
267. Peuchet, ‘‘ Mémoires sur Mirabeau,” vol. ii., p. 
295. Cadet de Gassicourt, ‘‘ Essai sgr la Vie de Mira- 
beau.” (Works of Mirabeau, vol. vi., ch. xxii.) 





13 


have to make you a declaration of friendship. 
If I am not greatly deceived, you are the practi- 
cal man for the ideas of our century, and by your 
means liberty will blossom in France. It is no 
idle vanity on our part, when we believe that our 
young American independence will have a pow- 
erful influence upon the future of all nations. 
Americans shed their blood for liberty and inde- 
pendence, and blood sanctifies sincerity, as well 
as strengthens the soul to great deeds. My share 
in my country’s honor and success was insignifi- 
cant. I have no other merit than that of having 
thought the best foundation of society to be love, 
fraternity, and industry, and that there lies the 
harmony of human action, with the certainty of 
If my fel- 


low-citizens recognize such sentiments, and re- 


the highest possible human welfare. 


ward so richly the poor printer with the most im- 
portant ministries in the state, I am indebted to 
the respect which every one is entitled to who 
thoroughly understands his epoch. But when I 
see so many and highly-gifted men as those I 
meet in this company, I fancy that France, when 
her hour has come, will give a brilliant festival for 
all mankind!” 

“ Hear him!” exclaimed Chamfort, in his clear 
voice. “The great American entices us most 
enchantingly. Really the inventor of the light- 
ning-rod must be decidedly qualified to manage 
Lately we 
have ourselves made attempts of various kinds 


the political electricity of France. 


in philosophic discovery. When people, in fact, 
essay to renew the spirit of a nation, they first 
open the book of Nature, and try to fathom its 
laws—how each individual is created for itself— 
how it exists, lives, and enjoys. But when we 
heard: of your discoveries, Father Franklin, we 


were rejoiced, thinking we saw symbolized the 


means of our national welfare. As you sent up 
your kite to draw from the clouds the magnetic 
influence, so we have discovered that the French 
people possess something similar in their own in- 
herent strength, which will presently ascend into 
high and uninvestigated regions. You see we 
freely admit that you are our teacher; and my 


friend Mirabeau, although he thinks it incumbent 


14 


on him to represent the proud Frenchman, was 
one of the first to send up such a kite in France, 
- in the shape of his work ‘On Despotism.’ Has 
he not intimated that a terrible storm will soon 
break over our devoted heads?” 


_ At this moment the servant announced M.- 


Etienne Montgolfier. The mention of this name 
made quite a sensation in the company, and they 
remembered the news of the day, which was con- 
firmed by those who had last arrived from Paris. 
Etienne Montgolfier entered. He was known to 
most of those present, and Madame Helvetius re- 
ceived him with polite kindness. He was still 
rather a young man of some thirty years, whose 
pale, interesting countenance showed traces of 
the great exertions and struggles he had passed 
through, in reaching results now crowned with 
such wonderful success. His unassuming man- 
ners made an impression of the most amiable 
‘modesty and timidity, which were especially in- 
dicated by his disclaiming to be the inventor of 
the air-balloon, endeavoring to ascribe all the 
honor to his brother Joseph, with whom he con- 
sulted and labored. But it was well known that 
the idea first originated with Etienne, who had 
received orders to explain the new invention at 
Paris and Versailles, and to make the trial ex- 
All regarded Montgolfier with visible 


They surrounded him, and, in answer 


cursions. 
interest. 
to their questions, he corroborated the fact that 
he was to make a new ascension at Auteuil, in 
presence of the whole court. He invited all the 
company to witness the spectacle, saying that he 
would reserve a platform for them, and that he 
considered their patronage of great importance, as 
he had undertaken to make some improvements, 
which he would like to have examined by such 
renowned and experienced men. 

“Tt is not yet dinner-time,” said Madame Hel- 
‘vetius, hesitatingly, “‘and I cannot refuse to let 
you have my guests for an hour, but, with their 
own consent, and provided that your exhibition 
does not last longer, otherwise I would protest 
against it, for my dinner would be completely 
spoiled. I have several novelties on my table to- 
day, particularly an American ham, a present 


‘well as Diderot. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


from General Lafayette, which he has received di- 
rect from the plantation of General Washington. 
You may suppose that such a dish ought to be 
eaten at the proper time. Besides, our dear 
friend the Marquis de Lafayette will be here, as 
The latter has been ill for 
several days, but he has nevertheless promised to 
be here. I must therefore remain at home until 
they arrive, that they may not find my house 
quite tenantless.” : 

Montgolfier seemed to be satisfied wlth this ex- 
cuse for the lady’s absence, yet he seemed to 
have something on his mind which he hesitated 
to express. At last he found courage to say 
what it was: he wished to accompany him in his 
balloon a few birds and domestic animals, and so 
he begged Madame Helvetius to allow him to take 
a few of the inhabitants of her farm-yard for this 
purpose. He promised that no harm should be- 
fall them—he had already experimented in a 
similar manner in his former voyage, and the 
effect had not been in the least injurious to his 
The Duke de Chartres, who 
was to ascend with him on this day, had ex- 


fellow-travellers. 


pressed a wish to observe the effect of the rarer 
atmosphere on different species and forms of life. 
Montgolfier added that he would like to have 
some very fine specimens, such as he could find 
nowhere but at Madame Helvetius’s. 

The lady smilingly shook her head, and said: 
““No, my dear Montgolfier, I can let you have 
none of my animals—they are too near my heart. 
I should never pardon either you or myself if the 
meanest of my pets were hurt. My birds are all 
away at this time, so that I could not even give 
you a lame titmouse. I never close my aviary 
during the day, and all that choose may fly into 
the fields and gardens; they always return regu- 
larly at nightfall. They are my family, and ] 
know and love each one of them. I really could 
not accede to your request, though to oblige even 
the Duke de Chartres. 
empty.” And she opened a window looking into 


See, the aviary is quite 


the yard, in the centre of which stood the large 
aviary with its wire doors wide open. 
Montgolfier™ blushed, and, bowing, indicated 


THE COUNTRYSEAT OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 


that he renounced his wish. But Count Mir 

- beau approached, and, clapping him on the shoul- 
der,’said with the air of a patron: ‘Perhaps I 
can help you a little in your perplexity, M. Mont- 
golfier. Our friend, Madame Helvetius, has of 


_ eourse a very tender heart for her pets, and prob- 


ably she fears a moral as well as physical injury 
to them if they are even a few minutes in the 
‘society of the Duke de Chartres. I have, how- 
ever, a dog, called ‘Miss Sarah,’ to which I am 
certainly much attached, but which has recently 
‘acquired several disagreeable tricks. I have for 
some time been thinking of devising an extraor- 
~ dinary punishment, and I have found it at last: I 
sentence her to be the companion of a royal 
personage such as the duke. I am curious to ob- 
serve the effects on the dog-nature of my favor- 
ite, not. of the higher atmosphere, but of the im- 
mediate proximity of such a privileged gentle- 
man. My dog is in the yard, and at your service. 
Miss Sarah is a creature of rare beauty, and, if 
you wish to take her, I will bring her to you.” 
These words seemed to be received with much 
favor by the rest of the company, who manifested 
it first in whispers, and then in loud laughter. 
Montgolfier thankfully accepted the offer. 
“‘T should like to intercede for M. Montgolfier,” 
said Chamfort, with a humorous expression. 
“Do you not think it would be suitable to make a 
little addition, from the philosophic country-seat 
at Auteuil, to the society of the Duke de Char- 
tres ? I propose for this purpose ‘Tamtam,’ the 
old black cat, that has so often vexed us by her 
malignant disposition, and who recently scratched 
the hands of our fair friend. I know you inherit 
this cat from your husband, the great Helvetius, 
who was very fond of her, and under whose table 
she used to sit while he was composing his works. 
The hero of materialism often placed his feet on 
the back of this: cat while he was writing; and his 
powerful precept, declaring the whole being of 
man to be physical sensibility, may be said to 
have been founded on this electric catskin. 
Tamtam must, therefore, be a portion of history. 
It is probably on that account she considers it 
right to scratch and bite her old friends, but we 





15 


shall punish her a little for this. Besides, it will 
be gratifying to send up into the air this signifi. 
cant favorite of Helvetius (in which, I am sure, 
dwells one of the archdemons), and especially so 
in company with the amiable Duke de Chartres. 
The cat that: was present at, and perhaps aided in 
the composition of, the new system of the cen- 
tury, would be a most interesting vis-d-vis for a 
prince who represents to us the height of all that 
was sinful in a past and reprobate age.” 

“Very cunning and paradoxical as usual, but 
not wicked as usual,” replied Madame Helvetius. 
“Well, you may have Tamtam, M. Montgolfier. 
I will order your black compagnon de voyage to be 
immediately brought.” 

At this moment a slight rattling was heard at 
one of the folding-doors of the drawing-room lead- 
It was not latched, 
and opened as if of itself, giving ingress to a 


ing to the yard and garden. 
large black cat. Every one was taken by sur- 
prise at her unexpected appearance at that mo- 
ment, and her mistress allowed her to cross the 
room unrebuked. She came purring at the feet 
of Madame Helvetius, as if instinctively suspect- 
ing some danger, and asking for protection. 

“ Away, old Tamtam!” cried Madame Helve- 
tius, angrily. ‘You are very importunate, be- 
cause of your antecedents.” 

But other animals had entered by the open 
door, and even a goat stood at the entrance, shak- 
ing his beard, and seemingly making an inquiry 
with a motion of his head. Several of the birds 
had returned from their excursions sooner than 
usual, and seemed to seek their mistress with 
strange anxiety, as she had not received them, as 
her practice was, with food and endearing words. 
She looked in great astonishment at the inex- 
plicable actions of her favorites, who seated them- 
selves on her neck and shoulders, flapping their 
little wings incessantly, opening their bills, appar- 
ently expecting the kisses they generally re- 
ceived. Two goldfinches had even perched them- 
selves upon her new head-dress, and pecked at 
the leaves and vegetables that adorned it. 

“Something extraordinary must have hap- 
pened, since you return so early,” said Madame 


16 


Helvetius, frightening off the impudent goldfinch- 
es. “Your habit is to flit around until sunset, 
you rovers, before you even think of bringing me 
your evening greeting. And to-day you disturb 
me in the drawing-room among my guests. What 
in the world is the matter? Have you been 
alarmed, or chased away by something very un- 
usual ? ” 

The answer to this question was given by a dis- 
tant rolling sound, but coming rapidly nearer. 

“The equipages of the court are arriving!” 
said Chamfort, laughing, and hastening to a win- 
dow. “The animal paradise of our fair friend, 
which she rules so angelically, must have felt the 
approach of the court serpent, and the wanderers 
are home earlier. But, really, that is an awful 
noise—the whole royal family and suite—ten— 
twelve carriages, and a host of cavaliers with their 
no less brilliant servants! In this quiet village 
the court has never before appeared; how can we 
then be surprised if all these creatures in their 
fear have fled from the fields and roadsides to 
their accustomed refuge ? ” 

M. Montgolfier took his leave. 
arrival of the court urged him to finish his prepa- 


The punctual 
rations. He was assured that the two extra com- 
panions to ascend with him should be safely con- 
The rest of the 
company also began to leave, previously making 


veyed to the appointed place. 


the arrangement that Madame Helvetius should 
follow with her other expected guests. 


’ CHAPTER II. 
MIRABEAU’S DOG AND HELVETIUS’S CAT. 


In the large open space lying in the centre of 
Auteuil, accommodations had been made for 
those who wished to witness this third ascent of 
the balloon. 
royal party, the platforms intended for the general 


Even before the arrival of the 


public were filled to overflowing with spectators 
The 
motley crowd expressed the most impatient ex- 


of all ranks from Paris and its environs, 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


pectation, enlivened by many sarcastic and incon- 
siderate jests in reference to the Duke de Char- 
tres, whose intention of accompanying -Montgol- 
fier was already well known.* The company 
from the villa of Madame Helvetius took reserved 
seats, after the court had entered the royal com- 
partments, gorgeously lined with velvet and gold. 
In the central one were the king and queen. Be- 
side the latter the Princess de Lamballe, who had 
lately been nominated superintendent of the 
queen's household. This position was secured to 
her through the extraordinary and tender friend- 
In the loges to the 
right and left, the king’s brothers, the Count de 
Provence and the Count d’Artois, with their con- 


ship of Marie Antoinette. 


sorts and suite, had taken their places. In an- 
other was Duke Louis Philippe d’Orleans, the 
father of the Duke de Chartres, with beautiful 
Madame de Montesson, whom he had but a short 
time before secretly married. Among the dig- 
nitaries of the court was the new minister of 
finance, M. de Calonne, who in the preceding year 
had been called to this post, whose business be- 
came every day more complicated and difficult, 
When the royal family with their suite ap- 
peared, they were received in profound silence by 
This had not so much the character 
The 
time was past when the young king would be re- 


the people. 
of indifference as of painful depression. 


ceived in public with noisy exultation by his sub- 
At 
that time, after the death of the vicious and crim- 


jects, as at his accession ten years before. 


inal Louis XV., France could breathe for a mo- 
ment, and the surname ‘‘Ze Desiré” was bestowed 
on Louis XVI. The king of nmeteen years did 
not, however, relish that designation, though he 
wished by his deeds to deserve the title of “ Ben- 
efactor of the People.” Since then the nation 
seemed to be silent, moody, and full of distrust 
toward him wherever he showed himself. 

The public temper, which thus silently ex- 
pressed opposition to the court, became more sus- 
picious when contrasted with the enthusiastic 
reception extended to Franklin, who had scarcely 





* Vide Soulavie, ‘‘Mémoires du Régne de Louis 
XVI.,”’ vol. ii., p. 109. 4 


MIRABEAU’S DOG AND HELVETIUS’S CAT. 


appeared than all arose, and continued vivats 
resounded on all sides, accompanied by the wav- 
ing of the ladies’ handkerchiefs, Franklin con- 
tented himself, in. acknowledging this honor, 
with his characteristic smile and the raising of his 
small cap. Then he seated himself between Mira- 
beau and Condorcet, with whom he had entered, 
crossed his hands on his walking-cane, and cast a 
curiously anxious glance at the royal seats op- 
posite. Chamfort and Cabanis took their places 
‘behind him in the second tier, while the public 
seemed to observe the group with great interest. 
Next to Franklin, Mirabeau and Condorcet re- 
All knew that 
these men had participated more or less in the 


ceived the greatest attention. 


deliberations held in Paris concerning the con- 
The ideas of 
liberty, equality, and the rights of man, had been 


stitution of independent America. 


circulated in connection with the names of Frank- 
lin, Condorcet, and Mirabeau. * 

The countenance of the king darkened at these 
new demonstrations of homage with which the 
The noble 
features of Louis XVI., expressing his honesty 


French nation received Franklin. 


and conscientiousness, became melancholy. At 
times, when he was out of humor, a certain un- 
fortunate demeanor was obvious, making promi- 
nent his personal negligence, especially the dis- 
order of his hair. While he seemed to be lost in 
unpleasant reflection, the queen raised her beauti- 
ful head only the more haughtily and triumphant- 
ly. She glanced around on the spectators with a 
decidedly ironical expression, leaning back in her 
chair and contemplating them with an air half of 
pity and half of contempt. The enthusiasm of 
the French for Franklin was not only personally 
offensive to Marie Antoinette, but she recognized, 
with much greater penetration than the king, the 
intention of the people to insult the monarchy by 
this honor done to the venerable American, as 
representative of a republic. She was too proud 
and too honest to conceal her opinion, or, in 
presence of the masses, to disguise it even for an 
instant with an appearance of toleration or com- 





* ‘Mémoires de Madame Campan,” vol. i, Pp. 236. 
2 





' 


17 


promise. She had thus augmented the number 
of her enemies, and the ill-feeling against herself 
daily increased, on account of her petulance and 
irony, her free contradiction of what she disliked, 
and her prompt rejection of what she disbelieved. 
It was, however, evident that Marie Antoinette ‘ 
did not consider herself as having a really serious 

misunderstanding with her people. This was 
evident in her cheerfulness of countenance and 
sense of security, adding to the expression of her 
natural beauty, and forbidding a shadow of real 
fear. On her regular features could be perceived 
a complacent assurance in herself and her sov- 
ereignty, believing that she could win the affection 
But 


at this moment it was plain that the public had 


of all, whenever she condescended to do so. 


no inclination to admire the queen, or do justice 
to her truly enchanting appearance. She was 
only in her twenty-ninth year, but gave an im- 
pression of being much younger. This was in 
consequence of her exceedingly white and delicate 
complexion, the bright color of her cheeks, and 
her fair hair. The opposition that had early 
arisen against Marie Antoinette seemed as blind 
to the charms of her rare beauty as ungrateful to 
her exertions in alleviating the sufferings of the 
people by benefits of all kinds. They had accus- 
tomed themselves to regard her as an enemy of 
the nation, whatever she did or intended—every 
action was followed by numerous slanders, often 
taking form in ribald songs, obscuring or pervert- 
ing all perception of the truth. 

As the queen continued to regard the assembly 
in so haughty a manner, in a certain sense chal- 
lenging them, a whispering and murmuring soon 
pervaded the space occupied by them» She 
seemed immediately to perceive this feeling of 
resistance; but jested and laughed about it. 
Against all the rules of etiquette, she raised her- 
self, and, bending over to the Princess de Lam- 
balle, whispered apparently mocking and con- 
temptuous words, 

“We are again in a characteristic situation!” 
said Chamfort, who sat behind Mirabeau, touch- 
ing the latter’s shoulder to attract his attention. 


“The queen is again amusing herself at her own 


18 


expense. The nightly promenades on the terrace 
An inundation of hate- 
ful couplets made her recede from this innocent 


do not occur any more. 


amusement. Now the sportiveness of the inge- 
nious queen finds entertainment in the public 
itself, and makes merry at the grimaces of the 
good French people. Look, how the Roman nose 
of the fair lady, which is almost too sharply de- 
fined, expresses her sarcasm, and the thick Aus- 
trian underlip is just making a new bon-mot, and, 
I wager, a cutting one.” 

“You may ridicule every thing except the 
queen’s beauty!” replied Mirabeau, losing him- 
self in the contemplation of Marie Antoinette. 
“J think I am somewhat of a connoisseur, and I 
sincerely say I have never seen any thing to equal 
the charming contour of her countenance; it has 
an indescribable grace. Her figure is faultless, 
or, at least, very seldom does such a form come 
from the hands of Nature. All her movements 
are those of unrestrained and innocent youth, 
knowing nothing of kingdoms and the privi- 
leges of rank! I should think, Chamfort, that 
that angelic countenance ought to belong to our 
new era!” 

“For Heaven’s sake, what are we to think 
of your principles, Count Mirabeau?” laughed 
Chamfort. 
with the queen, and then where is your new era, 
And how is 
it that you have no longer any interest in the 


“You are in a fair way to fall in love 
that is awaiting you as its leader? 


companion of the queen, the Princess de Lam- 
balle? Is she not also a charming blonde? It 
is not so very long since you were proud of being 
her secretly-favored lover, and justified in boast- 
ing of tender interviews with this princess of the 
blood royal.” 

“You know my ideas of woman, Chamfort,” 
replied Mirabeau, casting an ardent glance on the 
princess; “I know we shall never agree on that 
subject. You may be the greatest satirist the 
time has produced, but you look on woman as a 
higher revelation of genius, and think it possible 
to make a compact for life and death with her. 
My views are much more cheerful. A woman’s 


early life is as a flowery day of spring that passes 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


away so soon. We must appreciate it while we 
can, for its sweet blossoms may to-morrow be 
withered by the sun, or scattered by the storm, - 
We must not delay the acceptance of charming 
promises, though for us they may not be fulfilled ; 
and this language interprets the history of my 
acquaintance with the Princess de Lamballe.” 

“T fancy it must have lasted a little longer 
than a day,” remarked Chamfort. “She was 
your friend when you were imprisoned in the 
tower of Vincennes, and you were indebted to 
her for many a trip to Paris.* Really she is 
fascinating, not only on account of her mildly- 
beaming countenance, but her misfortune en- 
hances her beauty, for it has imparted to her 
whole being a certain depth of tenderness and 
affecting melancholy. For I consider it as the 
most terrible calamity that can befall a pure and 
noble woman, to have been married to a prince 
of the house of Bourbon.” . 

“She was chained to this prince only for fif- 
“She had but one 


sentiment in reference to this marriage—disgust ; 


teen months,” said Mirabeau. 


and, by this means, she has preserved her natu- 
Her husband, though but 
twenty years old, was addicted to all depraved 


rally good temper. 


propensities. She confessed to me that, when 
she stood at the death-bed of this miserable 
prince, she often wished she had been a simple 
daughter of the people, so that she might never 
have inhaled the pestilential air of the French 
court.” 

“ Ah,” replied Chamfort, laughing, ‘‘ you wish 
me to understand how well you can make even 
princesses democratic, and that we may safely . 
trust you for the future. France relies on your 
talents, Count Mirabeau!—But see, the noble 
Duke de Chartres appears in the vacant space 
below, and speaks to Master Montgolfier. Prob- 
ably he is asking about the security of the bal- 
Indeed, it 
is no small matter to forward to the heavens a 


loon, which I hope will soon ascend. 


prince of the royal house; and even if he has 
courage, all danger must be provided against for 





* Cadet de Gassicourt, ‘‘ Essai sur la Vie de Mira- 
beau”? (éuvres de Mirabean, vol. vi., p. 18). . 


MIRABEAU’S DOG AND HELVETIUS’S CAT 


this precious head. But Montgolfier seems to be 
late. The perspiration falls from his brow while 
filling his machine, and he seems to hesitate. 
Our duke impatiently turns his back on the poor 
man, and returns to his place with a light step.” 
“What an interesting monster is the duke!” 
“Tf he were not such a fool, he 
But his in- 


famous actions are so mingled with his fopperies, 


said Mirabeau, 
might pass for a hardened criminal. 


that he has made on me the impression of a 
comic character.” 

“Perhaps he will soon be a tragic character in 
our hands,” said Chamfort, in a lower voice. 
“He has shown some talent for that in the fatal 
part he played as brother-in-law of the unfortu- 
nate Prince de Lamballe, contriving an infamous 
scheme to seduce him to a licentious life, that 
finally ruined him—poisoning him, soul and body, 
with intoxicating drinks, and thus exposing him 
to unutterable vice. Had the prince not been 
the only son and heir of the rich Duke de Pen- 
thiévre, the Duke de Chartres would not have 
selected De Lamballe as the victim of that satan- 
De Chartres wished to have a share 
of the large fortune the prince would have in- 


ic strategy. 


herited. Do you call this a comic or tragic role, 
friend Mirabeau ?” 

“T do not alter my opinion,” replied Mirabeau, 
“my impression is still that of a comedy. For if 
M. de Chartres, that duke of orgies, had not se- 
duced the Prince de Lamballe, the princess would 
perhaps have loved her young husband, and they 
might still be living in the idyllic union of two 
turtle-doves. Then I would not, perhaps, have 
met the beautiful princess during my hours of 
recreation on the fortifications at Vincennes, 
where she was accidentally. I would not have 
been introduced to her by her companion, the 

Count d’Entraigues, an old friend of mine, and 
she would not have transferred to my person the 
interest she took in my destiny. This ‘ perhaps,’ 
Chamfort, is the true comedy of life, and you see, 
M. Philosopher, that I owe much gratitude to the 
wickedness of the Duke de Chartres.” 

“Well, then, you owe him gratitude!” replied 

Chamfort, with ironic cheerfulness.—“ But see, he 





19 


has again appeared, and is hurrying poor Mont- 
golfier. The impatience to make himself promi- 
nent on this occasion is irritating him. He has 
He is the 
leader of the English imitators in Paris, and thus 
contrasts alittle with the rest of the court. What 


is your opinion of the duke’s dress, Count Mira- 


dressed himself in English style. 


beau? How picturesque this*individual of the 
blood-royal looks in his scarlet swallow-tail coat, 
with gilt buttons, muslin vest, black silk pants, 
and blue-and-white stockings! He plays with his 
switch very gracefully, continually swinging it, 
and reminding me of my boot-black beating the 
dust out of my clothes.” 

“Tam really glad to see that our duke has any 
dress at all,’ observed Mirabeau. “It is but a short 
time ago, that, in one of his mad pranks, he rode 
from Versailles to his palais-royal in a decided 
undress. As to his Anglomania, the court seem 
It is well 


known that he dislikes every thing on the other 


to be quite reconciled on that point. 


side of the channel except this costume and his 
race-horses. He will never fancy the English 
Parliament ; this he has shown by his childish ha- 
tred of our innocent French Parliaments, I wish 
he would soon ascend high into the air, that we 
may at last go to dinner.” 

At this moment attention was drawn to a loge 
that had hitherto remained vacant, at the side of 
Chamfort and Mirabeau, and in an oblique diree- 
tion from the compartment occupied by the royal 
party. All eyes were turned on those that were 
entering, and the public again broke out in loud 
cries of joy, accompanied with clapping of hands. 
It was young General de Lafayette who shared 
with Franklin the enthusiastic regards of the 
people. The brave general, since his return 
from America, the declared favorite of the day, 
received this homage with a slight and almost re- 
luctant bow. On his arm was Madame Helvetius, 
who took her seat at his side in a cheerful and 
On the other side of Lafayette 
was the Count d’Estaing, the renowned and cou- 


pleasant manner. 


rageous admiral of France, who had commanded 
the French fleet that aided the Americans during 
their struggle for independence. He had taken 


. 


20 


up his residence in Paris since the conclusion of 
Both he and his friend Lafayette wore on 
their breast the eagle of the order of Cincinnatus, 


peace. 


a new decoration, commemorative of the revolu- 
tion, and which indicated the members of a select 
society in the United States. Marquis de Lafay- 
ette, a young man of twenty-seven, made an im- 
pression rather by the romantic and adventurous 
military renown he had so brilliantly gained, than 
by his outward appearance, which was wanting in 
a certain freedom and grace. In all his move- 
ments there was something awkward, and this 
was heightened by an uncommonly short waist. 
His appearance was, however, redeemed by a nat- 
ural gentleness and heart-felt goodness, which 
showed itself winningly and irresistibly in his 
A mixture of childlike mildness 
and manly decision gave him that popular charm 


whole manner. 


which has always been associated with his per- 
son. His very red hair did not detract from the 
courteous expression of his features, but seemed 
rather to render them more acute and interesting. 
After Lafayette had thanked the people some- 
what reservedly, he perceived Franklin, and rec- 
ognized him most cordially. The latter returned 
the greeting not less ardently, rising with youth- 
ful vivacity, and, at the same time, with the dig- 
nity he considered necessary as representative 
When the assembly 
beheld these men saluting each other with such 


of the American people. 


fervency, they again applauded with cheers and 
clapping of hands. Lafayette, who was of an ex- 
citable nature, could not resist the influence of 
To show that he understood the 


intention of the audience, he put his hand on the 


this moment. 


costly sword at his side, and, drawing it quickly 
from the scabbard, held it aloft with both hands. 
This was the golden-sheathed sword which the 
_ Congress of the United States had sent to Lafay- 
ette, and which had been delivered to him by 
Franklin in the name of American independence, 
and at the same time as a symbol of the friend- 
ship existing between France and America.* On 
beholding it, the people renewed their plaudits. 





* Condorcet, “* Mémvires,”’ vol. ii., p. 53. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


For a moment there was a motionless si- 
lence among the members of the court. The 
countenance of the king expressed more perplex- 
ity than anger at this respect offered in disregard 
of his presence. The queen, on the contrary, 
more passionate and frank, could scarcely pre- 
She hastily 
whispered a few words to the king, probably ask- 


serve an outwardly calm demeanor. 


ing him to order the instant departure of the 
court, but the ruler of France gravely and deci- 
dedly refused to accept her advice. 

In the places occupied by the brothers of the 
king and their young consorts, a noisy cheerfulness 
seemed to reign. At least it was intended that 
the public should imagine that the scene just 
enacted was the cause of the merriment. The 
eyes of the witty Count de Provence, who seldom 
appeared in public, really flashed in their con- 
He had lately placed himself 
in opposition to the people by both public and 


tempt and satire. 


secret resistance to the reéstablishment of the 
old Parliaments, and his political principles had 
This 
circumstance was too well known not to inter- 


been a prominent subject of conversation. 


pret his present behavior in the most unfavorable 
Nor did his brother, the Count d’Ar- 
tois, who sat near him, restrain the levity and 


manner. 


wantonness of his character, making gesticula- 
tions which the spectators doubtless under- 
stood. 

“Lafayette is right in his recent remark, that 
an American era is dawning in France,” observed 
the Marquis de Condorcet, turning again to Frank- 
lin, with whom he had been holding an uninter- 
rupted conversation about the construction and 
possible utility of the balloon. 

Franklin smilingly played with his ruffle, the 
extreme whiteness of which was one of the few 
vanities in his costume that the representative 
of a free democracy permitted himself. 

“ American independence is beautiful, and full 
of promise for our future,” observed Cabanis, be- 
hind them, who according to his custom had been 
silent, apparently occupied with thoughts far dis- 
“ But,” he continued, with 


a touch of irony, “ that independence ought not 


tant from the present. 


MIRABEAU’S DOG AND HELVETIUS’S CAT, 


to adorn itself with the glittering insignia of the 
Old World!” 

“ You mean the insignia of the order of Cin- 
cinnatus?” replied Franklin, pushing up his 
large spectacles, and turning with a searching 
“Why, I think the gold 
medal looks quite well on the breasts of young 


glance to Cabanis. 


General Lafayette and Count d’Estaing. Worn 
by such worthy and brave men, it shows that 
Frenchmen have deserved well in the cause of 
liberty, and that they intend to devote themselves 
to it. And the white-edged blue ribbon speaks 
of the new alliance between France and Amer- 
ica.” 

“Permit me to join in this conversation, but 
with my most fervent and bitter hatred against 
your new decoration !” said Count Mirabeau, “ Is 
it not plainly ridiculous that the first sign of life 
a young republic gives is the institution of an or- 
der? But there are dangers in connection with 
it which you, worthy Franklin, will be the last to 
mistake or despise. It is decidedly a great weak- 
ness in Lafayette that he has become a commis- 
sioner for your eagle badges here in France, not 
only distributing them to his heart’s content to 
every French officer who fought in any one of 
your battles, but displaying them on every occa- 
sion. However, I long ago said that he is nothing 
but a most amiable amateur of liberty, and will 
never be any thing more. He will always remain 
weak, the slave of his own vanity, which will 
make of him any thing it pleases.” 

“T will gladly abandon to you our order of Cin- 
cinnatus,” replied Franklin, gently, ‘‘ but not your 
Lafayette, whom we may in some measure also 
call ours. You may be right that such an order 
might, though unreasonably, lead to dangerous 
consequences for our young republic, but I am 
ready at some future time to discuss the subject 
with you. It is possible that the most patriotic 
and virtuous societies may be perverted as pre- 
cedents for those that are ignoble and narrow- 
minded. But, tell me what objection you have 
to the heroic Lafayette?” 

Mirabeau cast a glance of hatred toward the 
place where Lafayette was seated, and, after hav- 


21 


ing searchingly contemplated him for some time, 
said to Franklin: “If on some idle afternoon I 
had read a novel having Lafayette for its hero, 
perhaps I might have been very well entertained ; 
but, as a politician, I think I could not honor him 
with my confidence. I shall never forget that he 
did not fail to play the actor in every one of those 
theatrical mummeries patronized and participated 
in by the princes, who thus permitted themselves 
to ridicule the reéstablishment of the old parlia- 
He is said to have discovered 
a peculiar talent for parody, in conjunction with 
the Duke de Chartres, who acted the president, 
while Lafayette represented the procurator-gen- 


mentary sessions. 


eral as a very jolly person. He so indulged in 
such jests, in face of the good-will of the king, 
who would gladly meet the requirements of the 
nation, that I consider the marquis unfit for any 
earnest political movement.” * 

“You forget to take into consideration his ex- 
treme youth, Count Mirabeau!” said Cabanis. 
“No one can doubt his honest sentiment for the 
future freedom of the people, although the souls 
of Cato and Alcibiades seem to mingle in his na- 
ture. It is evident that nothing but his great 
enthusiasm for liberty drove him to the battle- 
fields of America, Did not the king cause the 
young warrior’s arrest on his return, and was he 
not incarcerated for twenty-four hours, because 
he left France to fight the battles of the new re- 
public without the royal permission? I have be- 
fore tried to reconcile the antagonism existing 
between Mirabeau and Lafayette, and I shall not 
give up until I succeed.” The usually pale cheeks 
of the young man were deeply flushed, and his 
eyes beamed with a friendly and noble resolution. 

“You are always amiable, Cabanis!” replied 
“And let us leave the Marquis de 
Lafayette in the enjoyment of popular favor and 
the glory of his transatlantic decoration. But I 
wish to make a proposition, which I especially 
recommend to the favorable consideration of our 
honored Dr, Franklin. 
against the order of Cincinnatus, and you must 


Mirabeau. 


I intend to issue a paper 








* Ségur, “‘ Mémoires,” vol. i., p. 48. 


22 


all assist me with your ideas on the subject. 
Franklin, Condorcet, Chamfort, aud Cabanis, 
We shall send it into the world 
as a manifesto, showing how surprised the true 
friends of liberty are, that the first act of the 


newly-risen republic is not that of setting a pure 


must contribute. 


example to other nations, but instituting a new 
sign of inequality—a new recognition of the 
follies of the Old World. And what a triumph 
for my undertaking, to have a contribution from 
Franklin himself, the strong defender of Ameri- 
can and European liberty! Am I too bold in my 
supposition, Father Franklin, or am I mistaken 
that your great heart beats for the welfare of the 
people?” 

“You really seem to understand me,” replied 
the American. “TI confess that it would do no 
harm, if a pamphlet appeared explaining that an 
order might possibly be destructive of the princi- 
ples of real democracy; but this should be writ- 
ten kindly, and without losing sight of our new 
constitution. If you desire my true opinion, I 
must say that I opposed the institution of this 
I thought it 


my duty especially to declare against making any 


society for many considerations. 


honorable distinction hereditary, and my magnan- 
imous friend, General Washington, shared my 
scruples.” * ; 

“Well, then, give me your hand,” exclaimed 
Mirabeau, in his impulsive zeal; ‘“ you will all as- 
sist in composing a work in which we shall fight 
against an institution that already begins to 
disappoint the new-born expectations of liberty in 
Europe. Such societies would soon create 4 
patrician rank and a military aristocracy. That 
was the origin of our aristocracy—the innumer- 
able counts, dukes, and marquises, who have 
despoiled Europe. They first assumed military 
titles and honors, which were afterward declared 
hereditary in certain families. + Your order is 


said to be an association of officers, who, having 





* At the special instance of Washington, the mem- 
bers of the order of Cincinnatus, at a later period, 
adopted his suggestions.—Vide “* Mémoires du Général 
Lafayette,”’ vol. ii., p. 88. 

+ Mirabeau, ‘* On the Order of Cincinnatus.” 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


fought for American liberty, wish to derive thence 
particular rights. Therefore, I offer you my hand 
here, in front of the court of France, surrounded 
by nobles, who begin to perceive that the popular 
opposition to the old feudal spirit will make the 
titles to which they were born of little value.” 
“Here is my hand, Count Mirabeau!” replied 
Franklin, 
longs to the oldest nobility in Provence, and I 
consider it an honor to fight in company with 


“T have heard that your family be- 


such a man against the unborn aristocracy of our 
republic.—But see! at last friend Montgolfier is 
ready, as well as the prince; and Mirabeau’s dog 
and Helvetius’s cat are just brought in.” 

The public had become very impatient, and 
were glad when the time had arrived for the 
balloon to ascend. The suspense was increased - 
by a report that had gained currency everywhere, 
that the Duke de Chartres intended to decline at 
the last moment, having declared the machine to 
be unsafe in all its arrangements and construc- 
tion. In truth, this was the cause of the delay. 
The prince, on approaching the frail and as yet 
untried structure, seemed to be perplexed, and 
made all kinds of suggestions affecting his per- 
sonal safety. The balloon, which Etienne had 
made for the first voyage of himself and his 
brother, was made of strong linen, lined with 
paper, one hundred and ten feet in circumference, 
He 
had raised it by rarefying the interior air, and 


and intended to weigh five hundred pounds. 


former trials bore witness to its safety and easy 
management. So much the greater was Montgol- 
fier’s astonishment when the Duke de Chartres 
suddenly told him that he had no confidence in 
his work, and that he would have an aérostatic 
vessel made for his own use, of about half the 
size, and in the form of a cylinder. It was 
known that the duke occupied himself with at- 
tempts of that kind, but Montgolfier would not 
permit him to cast obloquy on his invention, par- 
ticularly at that time. Besides, it was evident 
that the prince had scruples, not from better 
knowledge, but because at the last moment he 
failed in the necessary courage. His pale face 


and trembling limbs too plainly declared this. 


MIRABEAU’S DOG AND HELVETIUS’S CAT. 


Montgolfier begged him only to have confidence, 
and not to make the voyage ridiculous in pres- 
ence of the whole court and the numerous as- 
sembly, after he had voluntarily offered himself. 
Still, the prince hesitated to enter the air gondola, 
although no more excuses for delay could be 
found. ‘He is afraid!’ the audience whispered, 
and the satiric humor of the Parisians began to 
manifest itself. Old and new bon-mots passed 
from mouth to mouth, and among court-people 
At last the bell sound- 
ed, giving the signal to_start, and the murmurs 
of the public suddenly changed to a joyful “ Ah!” 
as the duke entered for his voyage. 


dubious faces were seen. 


“The spectacle has really commenced!” cried 
“The Duke de Chartres 
It seems he is able to 


the merry Chamfort. 

ascends in all his glory! 
muster more courage for a flight into the air than 
at the sea-fight at Ouessant of honorable mem- 
ory, where he was deaf, dumb, and blind, to every 
signal directing the ship he commanded into the 
battle. 
the royal blood of France at last crept into a near 


And history relates that this prince of 


and peaceful harbor, when the storm of the ocean 
battle threatened to engulf him. His portrait ap- 
peared, at that time, in the costume of a sailor, 
with this inscription: ‘He saw the sea, and 
fled!?* And now, rising into the purest regions 
of the atmosphere, he does not think of running 
away, although such a duke, one would think, 
must be on ill terms with all the natural ele- 
ments !” 

“Perhaps Helvetius’s cat gave him courage 
by her truly heroic aspect!” exclaimed Mirabeau, 
laughing. ‘See how she displays her dignity as 
the balloon rises, standing by the duke’s side as 
if she considered herself the principal personage, 
and to my mind she really appears more imposing 
than his royal highness! Or is it imagination oh 
my part, that the cat is casting humorous glances 
upon us from her glowing eyes? Perhaps, as she 
floats above us, she will make discoveries, and 
disclose to us some of the secrets of the philoso- 
pher Helvetius. Was it not said of this great 





*‘Sonyenirs de la Marquise de Créquy,” vol. v., 
p13. 





23 


man that he made so many enemies because he 
revealed the most hidden thoughts, and disclosed 
the concealed actions and motives of our race? 
And I have no doubt that he made many discov- 
eries of which we have never heard, and which 
he only whispered into the ear of his loved Tam- 
tam. Tell us now the last secret of thy master; 
tell us through the air the meaning of Helvetius’s 
doctrine, representing the human organization as 
one inseparable and perfect whole, deriving its 
life and happiness from the perception of the 
senses! Announce it up there, that this is the 
Purr it into 
the conviction of thy pale neighbor (that he may 


mystery of the liberation of man! 


repeat it to his companions at dinner), that there 
should exist none but free nations, because Hel- 
vetius teaches that man’s nature contains in itself 
all law; and that he needs but ask his own pleas- 
ure, to decide his rights!” This half-pathetic, half- 
ludicrous speech, which Mirabeau declaimed with 
his passionate zeal, made such an impression on 
his friends, that they all burst into laughter. 

“ But Helvetius’s cat must not make us forget 
Mirabeau’s dog!” Chamfort rejoined. “See how 
Miss Sarah ascends in calm intrepidity, looking 
with»contempt on the Duke de Chartres, of whose 
airy courage I am even inclined to doubt. Tam- 
tam is the symbol of the new knowledge arisen 
above our heads; Miss Sarah, of new deeds as 
I think I hear your bull-dog 
bark, Count Mirabeau, and consider it an an- 


the consequence. 


nouncement of the near approach of an active 
future, in which all must work for the liberty of 
What a Noah’s ark is that, where we 
find knowledge in the shape of Tamtam; deeds, 


France, 


in that of your dog, and the royal prince, the 
best representative of an infamous past! It is 
the ark of the future! 
for the ascent !—a moment more, and it spon- 


How uneasily it swings 


taneously passes through the clouds, and, in the 
serene light of heaven, looks down upon them !” 

While the company were entertaining them- 
selves in this way, there seemed to be some 
trouble in the balloon above them } for violent 
gesticulations, both of the duke and M. Montgol- 
fier, could be perceived. The public were the 


24 


first to notice it, pointing upward, with loud ex- 
clamations, at a scene becoming more and more 
remarkable. The rumor was, that the prince had 
again lost courage; having embarked with the 
utmost reluctance, he could no longer bear the 
motion, and insisted on being at once landed on 
terra firma, 
lowed. A terribly-ridiculing laughter resounded 


This was confirmed by what fol- 


on all sides, with derisive songs and the freest 
witticisms; and many anecdotes were related 
concerning the life of the Duke de Chartres. In 
the mean time, Montgolfier exerted himself in 
causing the balloon to descend. He was forced 
to do so, not only by the continual urging of the 
prince, which could no longer be refused (as he 
affirmed that the balloon was not safe for more 
than one person), but by his truly pitiable ap- 
pearance, indicating that he was quite ill, al- 
though only at the commencement of the 
voyage. 

“Positively,” exclaimed Chamfort, when he 
saw the balloon approach the place it had left but 
a few minutes before, “the man does look un- 
well, and air seems to agree no better with him 
than did the salt-water at Ouessant. The inscrip- 
tion might now be: ‘ He saw the air, and fled!’ 
Well, there are two elements in which one is 
safe from a prince of France! Only earth and 
fire remain, and, according to Jean Jacques Rous- 
seau, the earth belongs to the people, therefore it 
is quite possible that soon a place in the fire will 
be the portion of our dynastic lord.” 

“Silence, Chamfort!” said Mirabeau, placing 
his hand on his friend’s mouth, ‘“ Your tongue 
is as the signal-bell of the future, as I have 
often told you; but has the hour come to sound 
it? In the mean time, let us admire the heroic 
youth who has graciously considered the upper 
regions hardly worthy of himself; and who 
shows, by his prompt return, how little he cares 
The ‘ Montgolfiére ’ touches 
the earth, and the assistants are fastening the 
My brave Miss Sarah is the first to alight, 
and makes known her displeasure at the unsuc- 


for public opinion. 


ropes. 


eessful voyage by barking with all her might. 
Tamtam follows, and seems to indicate that she 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


has her own ideas on the subject. And now 
our dear duke descends!” 

The prince seemed to be suffering so much that 
Montgolfier was obliged to lift him out, and lead 
him slowly away. The audience, however, did 
not receive his return in the manner his condition 
ought perhaps to have demanded. They declared 
their disapprobation by hissing and whistling, as 
well as by execrations of all kinds. Montgolfier 
protected the duke by immediately carrying him 
behind the curtain. The places occupied by the 
court were quickly vacated; for as soon as the 
king and the queen perceived the unfortunate 
turn of affairs, and the renewed anger of the pub- 
lic against the Duke de Chartres, they arose, 
followed by the princes and the whole court, 
and went toward their conveyance in the greatest 
haste. Fortunately, they reached them before the 
assembly broke up, in a very tumultuous manner. 

When the guests of Madame Helvetius were 
departing, they were in the merriest frame of 
mind. The strange scenes they had witnessed 
heightened their good-humor, and even Count 
Mirabeau and the Marquis de Lafayette, whose 
social relations were usually not very cordial, 
greeted one another with smiles and considerable 
heartiness. Madame Helvetius took the arm of 
Franklin, and both walked rapidly, in advance of 
the rest, toward the villa. 

‘Tt is a bad sign,” remarked Franklin, ‘“ that 
the public have so little consideration for a prince 
who loses his courage. If an equestrian per- 
former had been seized with giddiness, they would 
have expressed the greatest sympathy for him, 
and endeavored to compensate him for his mis- * 
fortune by words of approbation. The reason 
why the spectators were so enraged to-day 
is, that you French people still have the notion 
that a prince must always declare himself unagi- 
tated by any occurrence—that he must be in- 
different and even sublime in the most trying 
circumstances, You imagine that a nobleman so 
recognized is in himself a superior being to a 
common performer, or to any other mortal; and 
that convinces me how far behind us Americans 


you are in reference to ideas of liberty.” 


MIRABEAU’S DOG AND HELVETIUS’S. CAT. 


Young General de Lafayette heard these words, 
and, approaching Franklin, said: ‘So you would 
have wished, honored friend and compatriot, that 
we had made his cowardice less painful to the 
Duke de Chartres ‘by a sort of general sympathy 
and applause. Well, in a certain sense you may 
be right. But France, in her views and: actions, 
can only slowly follow the great impulse our 
America has given to the whole world!” 

“Tt is flattering to my ears as the song of the 
sirens, to hear General Lafayette, even when in 
France, call himself the compatriot of Americans. 
Would that I had the same right to say ‘our 
France,’ as you have to say ‘our America!’ You 
have gained yours by the bravery with which you 
fought for the liberty of my country!” 

“JT consider myself still in the service of the 
United States, my dear friend!” replied Lafay- 
ette, with his hearty cheerfulness. ‘And my 
friendship ought to be renewed from time to 
time; thus you find me making preparations for 
another transatlantic voyage. Something seems 
to be impelling me from my native toward my 
adopted country. You may perceive that I also 
hold the opinion that the time for France has not 
come. I wish to present myself before your 
senate as one who again greets the American 
cause, always ready to sacrifice every thing for it. 
It gave me unspeakable pleasure to know that I 
should meet you at dinner at the house of our 
friend. I dare say you have many messages to 
intrust me with for Washington.” * 

“Yes,” said Franklin, quickly, “tell him that 
we would like him to leave the shade of his ‘ vine 
and fig-tree,’ and again appear in the tumult of 
public life. He is the greatest, and, so far as it 
is possible, the only perfect man of his time; and 
it is certainly one of the highest traits of his 
character, that, like Cincinnatus, he withdrew to 
the quiet of country-life as soon as he had finished 
his task as leader of our revolution. All Europe 
admires the patriot who, having reached so grand 
a result as the deliverance of his country, unas- 





* Lafayette made another voyage to America in the 
‘ spring of 1784.—‘‘ Mémoires du Général Lafayette,” 
vol. ii., pp. 81, 87. 





25 


sumingly becomes a mere planter on the banks 
But the world 
has need of Washington. He ought not to sur- 
render his glory to an obscure life, or expend his 


of one of its peaceful streams. 


talents in stock-raising.” 

“T believe,” interrupted Chamfort, who was 
walking behind them, “that Father Franklin is 
angry at our retarded dinner. He speaks slight- 
ingly of Washington’s occupation, although we 
were especially told by our amiable hostess that, 
among other delicacies, we were to have a ham 
sent from his plantation. Please do not depreciate 
the source whence General Lafayette’s generosity 
to Madame Helvetius originates. For if the great 
Washington discovers that we have no respect 
for his genial rural life, his lady, of course, can- 
not send any more hams to Madame de Lafayette, 
and the guests of Madame Helvetius will not have 
gained much by their comments on agricultural 
pursuits.—I have, by the way, usually a very 
hearty appetite, and especially to-day, so that I 
am longing to taste that Virginia dish, in which 
we may fancy we see the blessings of a free and 
And I hope we shall also have 
a glass of that famous peach-brandy, which can 
only be procured by our Lafayette from the same 
fountain—we shall then have some things in 


peaceful future, 


American style. Do you not consider these 
reasons sufficient to prevent any of us from in- 
terfering in Washington’s retirement from state 
affairs?’’ All laughed heartily at this sally. 

“In fact,” remarked Madame Helvetius, “such 
a style ought to reign supreme in our little dinner 
of to-day, because it possesses simplicity. You 
comprehend that I have not forgotten the favor- 
ite dish of Franklin—eggs and mustard—which 
he introduced into Paris, and which has long 
ceased to be considered a barbarism, but, on the 
contrary, has become quite fashionable.” 

Franklin knocked with his cane on the ground, 
and said, smilingly: ‘“ You more than fill the 
measure of your goodness toward me; although, 
on the other hand, it renews my sorrow, that I 
cannot always remain with you, and end my life 
under the blessing of such a guardian angel!” 
They were standing before the pleasant villa, 


26 


while a servant was opening the gate for their 
entrance, Madame Helvetius had not answered 
the last remark of Franklin. He stood for some 
time, with his arms folded, looking above the 
door of the house, where, from all appearance, a 
marble slab had been inserted. “I only now ob- 
serve, dear friend,” said he, with rather a vexed 
expression, “that you have had the marble taken 
down that formerly adorned the front of your 
villa. 


liked; it praised Boileau and Gendron, and was 


It contained an inscription which I much 
composed by the witty Voltaire. I really must 
blame you; nothing of Voltaire’s should be lost— 
at least, in political matters—not even the most in- 
It is 
to his mind that we owe much that has been done 


significant expression in defence of liberty ! 


for human equality. He is, in fact, the originator 
of this new era, and Benjamin Franklin will never 
cease to admire his political genius !” 

“The inscription had become damaged,” re- 
plied Madame Helvetius, ‘“‘and, as I fancied the 
slab was not fastened securely, I had it taken 
down and placed in the grove in my garden. I 
think that place much more suitable for it, as the 
inscription was intended for the previous proprie- 
tors of my little home,* and we have to fight 
now under our own flag. Is it not so, Count 
Mirabeau ?” 

‘ Yes,” cried Mirabeau, excitedly, “ and on this 
standard Madame Helvetius’s fair hand will em- 
broider the word Liberty!—But the name of 
Voltaire will always be the most powerful, under 
whose auspices the minds of France will unite. 
My friend, in his adoration of Voltaire, certainly 
sees the present condition of mankind in its 
proper light. I can never think unmoved of that 
scene where Franklin brought his four-year-old 
grandson to Voltaire, asking the latter to impart 
his blessing to the child.” 

“That is an unforgotten moment !” said Frank- 


lin, folding his hands. ‘“ With a truly sincere 





* ‘©’ estici le vrai Parnasse des vrais enfans d’ Apol- 
lon. Sous le nom de Boileau ces lieux virent Horace: 
Esculape y parait sous celui de Gendron.” (This is the 
true Parnassus of the true children of Apollo. Under 
the name of Boileau this place beheld Horace: Escu- 
lapius appeared under that of Gendron.) 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


expression of countenance, Voltaire placed both 
hands on the head of the boy, uttering, in a ring- 
ing voice that deeply affected me: ‘ Liberty, tol- 
erance, and honesty !’*—But let us go into the 
garden,” added Franklin, with a countenance of 
gentle melancholy, “I should like to see again 
the words which always made on me an agreeable 
and heart-awakening impression.” 

“‘ And I make the perverse proposition to de- 
fer this ceremony until after dinner,” said Cham- 
fort, with comic urgency. “If it cannot be unan- 
imously acceded to, I make another, that our 
hungry stomachs shall hold a council in the open 
air, and take a vote, as formerly the red-haired 
Germans did.” 

“Tf my words have any influence,” replied Ma- 
dame Helvetius, “I give them in favor of this 
) Our 
council should not be held in the open air, but in 


idea, but I beg to make an amendment. 


my dining-room ; otherwise, you will find your 
dinner cold and unpalatable.” This invitation 
could not be resisted, and the guests followed 
their hostess into the house. In the room a let- 
ter was handed to Madame Helvetius, which she 
opened quickly and eagerly ; having read it she 
laid it on the table with an expression of pro- 
found sorrow. After a pause she said, while tears 
came to her eyes: “ Diderot has sent me a refusal. 
He cannot come, and who knows whether we 
shall ever see him again? I have an evil present- 
iment. His health is very bad, and the Marquis 
d’Holbach in his anxiety would not permit Dide- 
rot to take the short trip to Auteuil. 
that a man of such genius should be taken from 
those who delight in him!” 


“T saw Diderot yesterday in Paris,” said La- 


How sad 


fayette, “and advised him to confide himself to 
the German doctor Mesmer, whose extraordinary 
cures are producing a great excitement in Paris. 
But he laughed at me, saying that he could not 
make up his mind to believe in magnetism, after 
seeing how little consideration intellect has in the 
world.” 

“That was a good lesson for General Lafayette, 





* “Souvenirs de la Marquise de Créquy,” vol. v., p. 3. 


HENRIETTE VAN HAREN. 


who has become the pupil of Mesmer !” exclaimed 
Mirabeau, ironically. “Every man that wills it 
carries magnetism within himself. Then where 
is the need of a German charlatan? The only 
question is, how much strength of will a person 
possesses. If my will is powerful enough, I can 
at any time take the hand of the most beautiful 
girl in the world, and say to her: ‘Follow me! I 
am he!’ And by the mysterious influence I 
have on her, she will obey without looking to the 
right or to the left, not thinking even of father, 
‘mother, or other relatives!” This declaration 
was received with laughter. 

“ ff that is the case, Mirabeau is the master of 
magnetic cures!” exclaimed Chamfort. 

“J pray you, gentlemen, to end your philo- 
sophic disputes for the present!” said Madame 
Helvetius, in an urgent voice, at the same time in- 


viting her guests to take their places at the table. 


CHAPTER Il. 
HENRIETTE VAN HAREN. 


In a convent near the old church of St. Ger- 
main des Prés in Paris, a young maiden had been 
living as a boarder for several years. The few 
who had any opportunity of seeing her were cap- 
tivated by her uncommon beauty and graceful- 
She was of Dutch birth, and called Hen- 
riette Amélie van Haren, a name she bore as an 


ness. 


illegitimate daughter of the Dutch poet Ouno 
Zwier van Haren. The latter was renowned as 
the author of the Netherland song of liberty, 
“Les Gueux,” * as well as a statesman and ac- 
tive partisan of the Prince of Orange. At the 
death of the poet, which occurred in 1779, Hen- 
riette was fourteen years old. She was sent to 
the convent at Paris to finish her education, and 
to reside there until her future destiny was de- 
cided. Her only means of subsistence was a 
small annuity settled on her by her father. Thus, 





* “The Beggars.” 





27 


in obscurity and almost unknown, she attaimed 
her nineteenth year. Her physical beauty and 
mental power were extraordinary, while the 
loneliness and retirement of her'life must bave 
produced in her romantic thoughts. Henriette 
not having friends or relatives in Paris, no one 
was specially interested in the great progress her 
mind had made, or in the extreme loveliness of 
her person. The nuns and other boarders, the 
only companions she knew, treated her like one 
of themselves, and, having become accustomed to 


the routine of her duty, the activity of her mind 


} and the cheerfulness of her temper seemed not to 


have suffered. Her only recreation consisted in 
visiting the convent garden, and participating in 
the little parties of pleasure, arranged during the 
summer, at neighboring places such as Auteuil, 
for all the residents of the convent, under the su- 
pervision of the worthy prioress, a Countess de 
Montessuy. 

The last expedition of this kind seemed to have 
left many memories in Henriette’s mind. While 
taking a walk with some of her companions in a 
field near Auteuil, she was’ greatly annoyed by 
the importunities of a gentleman, who, after the 
first glance at her face, turned and followed them, 
He was near when she 
At that moment 
his large commanding eyes, which arrested and 


wherever they went. 
entered the carriage to return. 


held her in a certain sense in bondage, made 
an impression on her she had never felt before. 
It was too plain that Henriette was. the object of 
his intrusive attentions; and she was forced to 
listen to the biting sarcasm of her partly-jealous 
companions, and the grave exhortation of the 
prioress. The next day the stranger appeared at 
the back-gate of thé convent ; and what was most 
remarkable, she happened to pass just at that 
time. His greeting frightened her, and she hur- 
ried away to the darker walks of the garden. 
But, during the whole night, in her lonely cell, 
she thought of this man ; she could not direct her 
mind to any other object, while this haunting 
idea of the heroic figure of her admirer was asso- 
ciated with resistance and fear, filling her heart 
with restless foreboding. This was heightened 


28 


still more, when, on the following evening, at a 
later hour, she suddenly saw him before her in 
her favorite retreat behind the linden-trees. He 
dared to address her, and, as by some irresistible 
impulse, she was compelled to answer him. 
Never had she heard any one speak as he did. 
While he was addressing her a halo seemed to 
play about his head, shedding a magic light upon 
the shadowy paths of the garden. At the same 
time, she felt the danger of finding herself entirely 
alone with him, for all her companions had al- 
ready entered the convent. She had, however, 
sufficient resolution to snatch her hand away, 
murmuring some scarcely intelligible syllables, 
and ran toward her home before the stranger 
could overtake her, although he was inconsiderate 
enough to follow her. Atthe same hour on the suc- 
ceeding day Henriette sat in her small chamber, 
absorbed in dreamy meditation and anxiety: 
Leaning her beautiful blond head on her hand, 
she thought very seriously of all that had lately 
occurred to her, believing, in the honesty of 
her heart, that perhaps she ought to reproach 
herself. The image of the mysterious stranger 
forced itself upon her, notwithstanding all her 
efforts ; 
when first she saw him, as if in her soul to gain 
assistance against him. She acknowledged that 
her first impression was very fearful; and when 


she renewed her revolting sensations 


she remembered the powerful form that had so 
strangely met her, she almost fancied that she 
had to do with a demon enticing her to ruin. 
As she recalled his face, it seemed to her it was 
shockingly wild, hard, and repulsive. Yet, while 
the evening before he was explaining to her the 
motives of his presence, his countenance seemed 
flooded with radiant beauty, and then she would 
rather have likened him to a god. But Henriette 
resolved henceforth to banish his memory, and 
not for a moment allow her thoughts to revert to 
him. To accomplish this purpose, she intended 
not to enter the garden for some time, pretending 
illness, so that she might be obliged to remain in 
her room for several weeks. The pious child was 
so earnest that she knelt, praying to the pictured 
Virgin looking down on her pillow. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


Some one knocked gently at the door of her 
cell, and Henriette sprang up with an exclama- 
tion. She breathed freely only when she saw 
Sister Angelica, one of the most religious nuns in 
the convent, instead of the masculine unknown 
whom the excited fancy of the girl had led her to 
This sister had lately been particularly 


attentive to Henriette; but there was something 


expect, 


so acute and lurking in the manner of the old 
woman that her attention could not but be re- 
ceived with anxiety. Sister Angelica approached 
with an assumed lightness of step, and kissed 
Henriette’s forehead, at the same time piercing 
her with such a searching side-glance, that the 
maiden trembled HOR eR rakes back as 
if expecting bad news. 

“JT sought you in the garden, Sister Henriette,” 
began the nun, “and thought that I would cer- 
tainly find you under the linden-trees, because you 
were there yesterday about this time, and seemed 
to be very well entertained. Why are you not 
there to-day, my innocent child?” 

“Why am I not there?” repeated Henriette, 
with trembling haste, her manner plainly betray- 
ing her. 

“ Well, I will not torment you; you are a dear, 
good girl, but you are in great, danger!” said 
the sister, very solemnly. She seized Henrietie’s 
arm and drew the confused girl to the sofa, with- 
out any resistance. 
under the trees, with their sweet fragrance, but 
your knight has awaited you there in vain,” added 


“Tt is charming this evening 


Angelica, in a mysterious whisper. 

“You know all!” replied Henriette, her tears 
flowing upon her cheeks; “then you must know 
also how innocent I am—that the meeting yester- 
day was accidental, and that I abhor the persecu- 
tions of the stranger, whom I wish never to see 
again. I have vowed not to leave this room until 
all memory of that man is lost to me!” 

“The Holy Virgin bless you now, my daugh- 
ter!” replied the nun, folding her hands, and, 
turning to the picture of the Madonna, she whis- 
pered a prayer. Then she continued, with her 
winning smile: “ And I have vowed to assist you 
faithfully in withstanding your temptations. I 


HENRIETTE VAN HAREN. 


was near yesterday when the tempter approached 
you. I prayed for you all night in my cell; and, 
this afternoon, went punctually to the same hid- 
ing-place to reconnoitre the movements of Satan 

against you. But the world-renowned seducer 
did not find his victim. It gave me great delight 
to contemplate at my leisure him before whom 
all women in France tremble—to whom no house, 
no convent, no temple is sacred!” 

“Of whom are you talking, Sister Angelica, for 
Heaven's sake!” asked Henriette, seizing the 
hands of the nun, and clinging to her. 

“ And is it possible that you do not know his 
name?” asked the nun, smiling significantly. 
“ You really do not know that the man who pur- 
sues you, who is stretching his destructive hands 
after you—that ensnarer of innocence, who has 
entered your own retreat and privacy—is no 
other than Count Mirabeau ? ” 

“‘ No, indeed, I neither knew nor imagined it!” 
exclaimed Henriette, shuddering. She blushed 
deeply, and, with her head inclined, fell into a 
dreamy meditation, seeming to forget the pres- 
ence of the pious sister. 

“Yes, Count Mirabeau!” repeated Angelica, 
making the sign of the cross, and looking half 
solemn, half apprehensive. “I recognized him 

immediately when he met us in Auteuil; and, 
yesterday evening, when a ray of the moon fell 
on his face, I was confirmed in my discovery. 
Poor child, it is Count Gabriel Riquetti de Mira- 
beau, whose eyes Satan himself must have turned 
toward you, and who purposes to inveigle you by 
his infernal arts. His power is great, and I fear 
you will not be able to resist it!” 

‘‘ Have no apprehension, Sister Angelica!” re- 
plied Henriette, starting from her reverie. The 
expression of her face had suddenly changed, and 
a thoughtful smile played on her lips. “ And 
how did you know it was Count Mirabeau?” she 
timidly asked. 

“Oh,” replied the old nun, “did I not see him 
in the convent of St. Clarisse, at Gien, whence he 
twice attempted to carry off the noble and beau- 
tiful Sophie de Monnier? You know I was ‘at 
Gien before I came here. An unhappy dispute I 





29 


had with the abbess made it desirable for me to 
make a change. My cell was next to that of So- 
phie, and I can boast that I was her confidante. 
Alas! she permitted me to read her tortured 
soul; and, having been a witness of her suffer- 
ings, I know something of what it is to be se- 
duced by Mirabeau.” . 

The attention of Henriette was aroused by this 
recital. “What!” she exclaimed, with a flashing 
glance, “‘ were you the friend of that unfortunate 
Sophie, whose sufferings and adventures are 
known to all France? Every feeling heart has 
associated the names of Sophie and Mirabeau in 
a sort of poetic union of the tenderness and the 
agony of love! Oh, tell me all you know about 
them, for my heart thirsts after the narrative— 
nothing ever interested me so much as the fate 
of those two lovers.” 

‘“‘ That is a very dangerous curiosity, my child,” 
observed Angelica, with an austere gesture. ‘“ The 
works of Satan may be recognized by the interest 
they have in our minds.—We nuns at the convent 
of St. Clarisse feared every day that Count Mira- 
We all thought of being 
carried off by him and plunged into the sad des- 


beau would attack us! 


tiny of our tempted Sophie.” 

Henriette, who, even in the most serious mo- 
ments, could not sometimes resist the expression 
of her natural cheerfulness, suddenly broke out 
into hearty laughter. 
to drag away any of you dignified heads of the 


“But he never attempted 


convent ? ” she asked, banteringly. 

“Yes!” answered Angelica, hastily and signifi- 
“ Count Mirabeau came twice most crim- 
inally to disturb the peace of the St. Clarisse, and 
He 
came to trouble Sophie’s rest—to make her fall 


cantly. 
subvert as an invader our holy regulations. 


out with her own heart, and to urge her, who 
was still subject to his influence, to flee with him. 
Those attempts of the Wicked One touched me 
deeply, as I was Sophie’s constant companion, 
and the ailment in my chest, which will shortly 
cause my death, takes its date precisely from that 
period!” 

“ And how did Sophie behave? Her beauty, 
heroic courage, and desire of martyrdom, are cel- 


30 


ebrated in all the stories related of her,” said 
Henriette, with a glowing flash from her beautiful 
eyes. 

“T will tell you all, my child!” replied the 
“You know that Sophie de Monmier, the 
wife of the governor of Castle Joux, committed 


nun, 


the awful sin of permitting Count Mirabeau to 
carry her away from her husband. By my patron 
saint, it was a great sin! but Sophie was only 
nineteen years old, and the Marquis de Monnier, 
whom her mother forced her to marry, was in his 
eightieth year. That was exciting the temptations 
of the flesh, and the Evil One employed one of 
his most successful favorites, in the person of 
Count Mirabeau, who was sent as a prisoner to 
Castle Joux, near Pontarlier.” 

‘Every child in France knows that, good Sister 
Angelica !” exclaimed Henriette, interrupting her, 
““Who has not heard the wonderful 
story, how Sophie and Mirabeau met and loved 


impatiently. 


each other; and how the datter, whom the law 
had delivered into the hands of a despotic father, 
won her as the angel that was to compensate him 
He 


carried her off, as I have read, freeing both from 


for his long and cruel sufferings in prison ? 
their chains. He lived with her a life of love in 
Amsterdam, until the officers of justice overtook 
them, taking Mirabeau to the dungeons of Vin- 
cennes, and burying Sophie in the convent at 
Gien, at the instigation of her revengeful hus- 
band!” 

“How well you are acquainted with all the 
circumstances, my poor daughter!” sighed An- 
gelica. ‘And, believe me, it is very dangerous 
But 
Count Mirabeau, in numerous pamphlets, did all 


to pay so much attention to such things. 


he could to make every thing relating to the af- 
fair public, trumpeting to all the world his arts of 
seduction.” 

“Pardon me, I believe you do him an injus- 
tice,” replied Henriette, quickly. ‘He only pub- 
lished his memoirs after he had been set free 
from Vincennes, his father’s anger having at 
length cooled. He gave himself up again as pris- 
oner at Pontarlier, to have his lawsuit reéxamined, 
and, if possible, the first verdict reversed. That 


-was why he published his defence. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


Our physi- 
cian lately gave his memoirs to me, and they are 
well written—they are like sweet melodies at- 
And did not the 
judges themselves become*sensible of the injus- 


tuned by the hand of a master. 


tice of the sentence condemning him to death for 
the seduction of Sophie, declaring the decision 
void? And was it not Mirabeau’s intention, in 
justifying himself, also to justify her, and thereby 
gain her freedom ? ” 

“No,” replied Sister Angelica, impetuously, 
“that was only a pretence; his object, in rep- 
resenting his intimacy with Sophie as innocent, 
was for the liberation of his own person. Mira- 
beau desired this, because then he hoped to in- 
duce his wife Emilie de Marignane to reunite her- 
self with him. She would not live with him, on 
He wished 


to repossess himself of her, or rather her fortune, 


account of his notorious infidelities. 
in order to enter a new career, But his calcula- 
tions failed, and, although he gained his process 
in Pontarlier, he did not profit by it. Last year 
his wife obtained an absolute divorce.” 

“Tt is true,” said Henriette, timidly, “I had 
forgotten that Count Mirabeau had been married, 
and disputed with his wife about her property. It 
is also a proof,” she added, after a pause, “ that 
he turned from his Sophie, and that their friend- 
ship was not enduring, as she supposed.—But 
you were about to tell me of her, and the visits 
Count Mirabeau paid you in your convent at 
Gien ?” 

“ Yes, I shall never forget those fearful visits!” 
sighed the nun, glancing imploringly at the image 
of the Virgin, as if to gain courage and consola- 
tion. ‘‘Mirabeau and Sophie kept up a loving 
correspondence during their imprisonment. I 
read many of those letters, having Sophie’s un- 
conditional confidence. By my hand her epistles 
were forwarded to the prisoner at Vincennes, 
Count Mirabeau was suddenly set free. The cor- 
respondence, formerly so passionate, was no 
longer the same. He wrote her rude letters, full 
of anger and jealousy, and Madame de Malleroye 
(the name Sophie bore in the convent, because 


she hated that of her busband) replied no less 


HENRIETTE VAN HAREN. 


bitterly. Mirabeau reproached her with infidelity 
to him. At one time he accused her of criminal 
intimacy with her confessor Le Tellier, then with 
other individuals, whose visits she received in her 
cel]. The most distinguished persons of the town 
of Gien, attracted by her amiability and gentle- 
ness, visited her daily, paying her every atten- 
tion; but there was not one, I declare it solemnly, 
who could in the least give cause of jealousy to 
Sophie said that he played the part 
The 
physician of our convent, Dr. Ysabeau, was a 


Mirabeau. 
of a jealous lover in order to forsake her. 


friend of both, and endeavored to effect a recon- 
ciliation. He wished to induce a meeting, and 
Sophie consented, although I dared to make the 
gravest representations against it. But the doc- 
tor carried his point. He himself travelled to 
Nogent-sur-Vernisson, where the count then was ; 
procured for him the disguise and pack of a ped- 
ler, and under this mask led him to Sophie’s cell. 
I was to be the only witness of this interview, 
that ata future time she might not be accused 
of having been the cause of any impropriety in 
the convent. The two lovers greeted each other 
with monosyllables, and immediately commenced 
a very stormy interview. Mirabeau maintained 
his charges against her, but could bring no proof. 
At first she defended herself with her usual gen- 
tleness ; gradually she became more excited, and 
finally she recriminated the accusation, but, un- 
like him, produced proof of his unfaithfulness. 
Even while writing the most ardent letters to her 
from Vincennes, Mirabeau had amorous intrigues 
with two other women, whom he had fascinated. 
One was the wife of the governor of the castle 
where he was imprisoned, and the other a prin- 
cess of France, whose name I dare not mention. 
This princess obtained many privileges for him. 
It was through her friendship that he was some- 
times permitted to visit Paris, and it is ascribed 
to her influence that he was afterward liberated. 
With these facts, of which every one was talking, 
Sophie openly reproached him. Mirabeau foamed 
with rage, his voice sounded like the roar of a 
lion, and the whole convent was startled by his 
loud and angry words. The nuns knelt in their 





31 


cells, praying, and thinking that the arch-tempter 
himself had broken into the fold, and none had 
courage to meet him. The Count and Sophie 
separated, both highly exasperated, and far from 
regaining the concord of their hearts.” * 

“Oh, how sad!” exclaimed Henriette, her 
bosom heaving with a sigh of sympathy. 
did they never again meet in love?” she added, 
softly, her voice trembling with expectation. 

“Tn our convent at Gien we feared his return 
every day!” replied Sister Angelica. “ Some 
time, however, passed before the marchioness 
heard any thing more of him. But suddenly he 
seemed to repent. He proposed a reconciliation 
and abduction, in a letter to Sophie, and she was 
weak and loving enough to agree to his plans. 
When she saw that I opposed this intention, on 
account of the future good of her soul, she with- 
drew her confidence from me and maintained an 
obstinate silence. I redoubled my watchfulness. 
Mira- 


beau had by some means procured a wax impres- 


Soon I discovered all their arrangements. 


sion of the keys of the large gate, and gave 
Sophie the keys he had obtained, so that she 
could depart. The hour of flight was appointed. 
He was standing near the gate to receive the 
beautiful fugitive ; but I had betrayed every thing 
to our abbess, after strengthening myself by 
prayer, At the moment Sophie put the key into 
the lock, the atm of the abbess prevented her 
exit. The count scarcely had time to escape the 
men-servants of the convent, who had been sum- 
moned. I secretly enjoyed the triumph of the 
just in having saved Sophie from this soul-de- 
stroying reunion.” + 

‘And Count Mirabeau has since given up all 
attempts to regain possession of his Sophie?” 
asked Henriette, dreamily. 

“They have parted forever,” replied the nun, 
“She recovered her lib- 
erty some months ago, but he has not troubled 
himself in the least about her.” 


with pathetic gravity. 





* Montigny, ‘‘ Mémoires de Mirabeau,”’ vol. iii., p. 
288 


+ Cadet de Gassicourt, ‘‘Essai sur la Vie de Mira- 
beau.” 


“ And — 


32 


> 


“What! the Marchioness de Monnier is no 
longer in the convent at Gien?” asked Henriette, 
with an expression of restlessness and sadness. 

“The death of her husband freed her from all 
“She had been 
obliged to sign a declaration never to leave the 


restraint,” said Sister Angelica. 


convent during her husband’s lifetime, when 
After 
the marquis died she hired a small house in Gien, 


Mirabeau gained his lawsuit in Pontarlier. 


near the convent, and in fact connected with the 
place where she had found consolation and refuge. 
She boarded with the pious sisters of St. Clarisse, 
without whose companionship she could not live, 
feeling a reluctance to return to her family, from 
whom she had suffered so much. She has found 
peace and a home near the friendly banks of the 
Loire, and may God bless her, although she is 
my enemy since the event I have related to you.” 
Sister Angelica prayed softly, and Henriette felt 
herself called upon to join in the devotion by the 
severe glances of the nun.— Now I have prayed 
for you also, that Heaven may protect you 
against Count Mirabeau!” said Angelica, rising. 
“ You are sought by the most dangerous and prof- 
ligate of mer, and I considered it my duty to 
warn and assist you.” 

“YT thank you,” replied Henriette, her coun- 
“Your 


intention is good, and I appreciate it, although I 


tenance again crimsoned with a blush. 


am not in such great danger as you imagine.” 

* You fancy yourself safe; because Count Mira- 
beau is an ugly-looking man,” replied the old nun, 
eagerly. ‘That is just the beginning of the mis- 
chief, where he is concerned. When first seen, his 
savage face, deeply pitted with small-pox, makes 
a fearful impression, and his broad-shouldered and 
powerful frame forces you almost to sink down 
before him. But this is the charm Satan has 
given him to destroy all he approaches. For, 
after I had seen him several times, I felt in my 
heart that his repulsiveness began to change. 
But now good-night, sister! It is quite late!” 
She hastened away, leaving her young friend a 

prey to the utmost excitement. 


teri en 





COUNT MIRABEAU, 


CHAPTER IV. 


MIRABEAU AND HENRIETTE, 


HENRIETTE was still in the same position, mus- 
ing on the events of Sister Angelica’s story. 
Night and silence surrounded the maiden as she 
The foliage 
of the convent-garden was rustling in the evening 


sat absorbed in her own thoughts. 


air, that with its perfume came laden to her with 
Suddenly 
she awoke from her dreamy meditation, and be- 


many sad and yet pleasing memories. 


came attentive and anxious without apparent 
cause. A sound as of one whispering seemed to 
proceed from the hedges, She sprang up, and 
hurrying to the window carefully closed it. Light- ‘ 
ing a candle, she searched around her, though 
convinced that the noise which so alarmed her in 
her cell was but the suggestion of her own imagi- 
nation. Standing at the window she had again 
opened, nothing ‘was heard but the night-wind 
sighing among the dark trees and along the flow- 
ery paths. Suppressing her fear, she took up a 
book she had commenced to read some time be- 
fore, but could not fasten her attention upon it. 
Placing it aside, she again went to the window, 
At 


the same moment she was also attracted by a 


and now plainly heard a voice in the garden. 


slight noise at her door, which made her tremble, 
and a cry of alarm escaped her. She was on the 
point of locking herself in, but some undefined 
feeling agitating her mind prevented her. The 
door opened, and in the dark background of the 
chamber appeared the figure of a man, whom 
Henriette immediately recognized. She almost 
“Tt is he! 
Mirabeau!” she whispered, stretching out her 


lost control of-her senses. Count 
hand, as if to forbid his approach. 

“You know my name, Henriette!” he ex- 
claimed, triumphantly, quickly advancing and 
seizing her hands. 

Henriette stood as if petrified, letting him press 
her hands to his lips and breast. The conscious- 
ness that in her surprise she had revealed the 
knowledge of his name had greatly heightened 


MIRABEAU AND HENRIETTE. 


her confusion, and she felt as ‘if all her power of 
resistance had departed. 

“ Henriette,” said the count, passionately gaz- 
ing at her, “I am the happiest of mankind, for 
you were occupied with me since our last meet- 
ing, but I will not ask who has betrayed my name 
to you. What is there in a name associated with 
nothing but persecution and suffering, and that 
This life 
for Mirabeau can only dawn but through your fa- 


can only regain its glory in a new life ? 
vor, Henriette! You have probably been told, 
what is known to all France, how tormented I 
have been; and now my destiny is placed in your 
hands, that you may pacify the storms which 
have hitherto beaten around me, and command 
for me the peace of love with your gracious lips.” 

Henriette did not reply, standing with her head 
‘inclined on her bosom, motionless as a statue. 
She seemed to fear that action on her part would 
But, al- 
though she made no outward movement, she 


increase the power he had over her. 


could not repress the violent beating of her heart 
and her involuntary confusion, that betrayed her 
mind more eloquently than words. 

“‘ Repeat the expression with which you greeted 
me at my entrance, Henriette!” exclaimed Mira- 
beau, drawing her into his arms. “Say again, 

‘It is he!’ and I will read therein the blessed 
confession, that you will receive and follow me, 
never to leave me again, but remain in a union of 
love and truth. Will you come now, at this mo- 
ment ? ” 

Henriette slowly shook her head, without with- 
‘drawing herself from his arms or uttering a word. 

A perplexed smile passed over her face, express- 
ing more of anticipated happiness than a reluc- 
tance to accompany him. 

“You will not speak to me?” recommenced 

Mirabeau, with the most insinuating tone of his 
full, deep voice. “But your heart lies open be- 
fore me; and, if your lips refuse the words I ask, 
your heart will reply. Yes, ‘it is he’ who, after 
_ having once seen, could not forget, and dared to 
penetrate even within these sacred walls to call 
you! ‘It is he’ who, inspired by your youth and 
beauty, has knocked at your door to win you toa 


8 





33 


happier existence, to which, with all your charms, 
you properly belong. ‘It is he’ who will carry 
you in his strong and safe arms out of this prison, 
and open for you the gates of a brighter life. 
Then come, and. follow your friend who loves 
you. Every thing is prepared; I have conquered 
your jailers, and no human hand shall stay our 
flight.” 

Henriette looked searchingly into his face, to 
read more surely his intentions, and she thought 
she saw some truth and love, confirming all her 
The wildness of his look, that 
formerly repulsed her, had changed to tenderness ; 


secret wishes. 


and if he still had the appearance of a lion in 
his physical strength, there seemed to be also a 
submission to her own gentle influences, with 
which she might subdue him. 

Mirabeau, looking steadfastly into her eyes, said: 
“Come, Henriette, it is time to leave this place. 
Beyond these walls you will find liberty, air, and 
a brighter future ! 
who will guide you safely to reach that happiness 


Consider me as your servant, 


of which until now you were unjustly deprived. 
But a few hours, and the night will do homage to 
theday. By the first beams of to-morrow’s sun, 
you will enjoy a freedom that you have never 
known. You will breathe, think, and feel differ- 
ently, and you will confess to me that I have 
conquered for you the right of a true and youth- 
ful life.” 

Henriette hesitated still, or rather she dared 
not come to a decision, feeling that she scarcely 
had control of her mind. 

“Take your shawl and cloak, and wrap your- 
self up carefully, for the night is cool!” said Mi- 
rabeau, enjoining obedience by his looks, which 
she was unable to resist. Almost mechanically 
she followed his glances, that fell upon a closet 
containing her clothing. She went to it, walking: 
like a somnambulist, who follows some mysterious: 
impulse. She took out her garments, holding 
them up for a moment, as if trying to remember 
something. But Mirabeau approached quickly,. 
and threw her cloak around her, again énfolding 
her in his arms. She stood motionless, with 
closed eyes. 


34 


“ And now take your hat and veil, my beloved 
child, so as to protect your beautiful locks from 
the rough night.” 

Henriette obeyed, drawing the veil down over 
her face. She stood before him, as if awaiting 
his next command. Mirabeau beheld her with a 
passionate look, and she seemed as if she felt its 
piercing fire, for her whole frame trembled, as if 
touched by an electric shock. 

“ But do not forget, Henriette, to take with you 
whatever may be dear to you among your few 
possessions,” 

The girl sighed aloud, as she went to a bureau, 
ornamented with antique carvings, and drew out 
several drawers, in which she searched for some- 
thing. Taking out a gold miniature, set with 
pearls, of her celebrated father, and kissing it, 
she put it in her bosom. Appearing now to have 
more confidence, her cheeks regained their color, 
and, for the first time, she raised her eyes and 
turned them full and bright on Mirabeau. She 
seemed to have awakened as from a deep sleep, 
looking at him in astonishment, and gently nod- 
ding, as if glad to find that the reality had not 
disappointed her dream. With the light step of 
a gazelle, she returned to her bureau, taking 
thence a casket, which she opened and regarded 
smilingly for a moment. Locking it again, she 
approached Mirabeau with an almost cheerful mo- 
tion, contrasting with her previous apparent in- 
difference. He looked at her in pleasant sur- 
prise. Placing the casket in his hands, she inti- 
mated by a gesture that she wished him to take 
eare of the contents. Her expression had some- 
thing so touching and humble that Mirabeau fell 
But 
Henriette had not spoken a word since the ex- 
And 
yet she felt that a great event, having power over 
her whole life, had taken place; that she had said 
all that was necessary; that there was nothing to 
add, and that before him there was a sort of rap- 


at her feet, covering her hands with kisses. 


clamation she had uttered at his entrance. 


ture ‘in her silence. But Mirabeau wished to hear 
the words again for which he had pleaded in vain. 
Ke took her in his arms, and, pressing his face to 


hers, he asked gently: “Are you indeed ready to 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


follow me, to confide yourself to me, so that we 
live for each other, existing as by the same breath, 
never to part again?” 

Henriette was still silent, but tears were gath- 
ering in her eyes. 

“ And amI he who first discovered the treasure 
of your heart ?” he continued, with sensitive ur- 
gency. 
trothed and united yourself? Is it he with whom 


“Ts it Mirabeau to whom you have be- 


you will go forth into the world; and can he be 
certain of your pardon, love, and kindness ?” 

“Tt is he!” whispered Henriette, so low as 
hardly to be heard, and again turned tremblingly 
away. 

“You have uttered that expression !” cried 
Mirabeau, in his impulsive manner, “and our 
May all 
prisons in France open as easily to love and lib- 


sweet union is sure. Now we must go! 


erty as yours, to which you shall never return to 


‘incarcerate body and soul!” 


Thus speaking, he opened the door, letting her 
go before him. To assure her of his protection, 
he held his hand over her, as if by a magnetic 
gesture, so that the points of his fingers almost 
touched the crown of her head. She seemed to 
feel encouraged by the proximity of his hand, go- 
ing unhesitatingly and fearlessly through the halls 
No 
footfall along the hushed and sacred corridors was 


of the convent to the principal staircase. 


heard by the sleepers in the cells, and without 
interruption they approached the convent gate. 
It stood open, and the old portress was invisible. 
Hastening into the street, and down into an ob. 
scure alley, they reached the carriage ready to 
receive them. The count’s servant opening the 
door, Mirabeau lifted Henriette into it, and the 
fugitives quickly passed away in the darkness of 
the night. 


CHAPTER Y. 
THE MYSTERIOUS CHILD. 


THE carriage stopped in the Rue de la Ro- 
quette, near the square of the Bastile, where 


pearance of the servant. 


~ a 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHI 


Count Mirabeau was at present living. The sun 
was just rising when Henriette, leaning on Mira- 
beau’s arm, hesitatingly entered his insignificant 
abode. 
her to expect a palace, and for a moment she felt 


Her excited fancy had involuntarily led 


wounded when she saw this dark and poverty- 
stricken house. But one look at Mirabeau, who 
was carefully leading her up the smooth stone 
steps of the narrow staircase, transformed every 
thing around into beauty andsplendor. With a 
beating heart she stepped into the apartments on 
the first floor, which were opened by the servant. 
The two communicating rooms were large, but 
being almost entirely empty, had a very uncom- 
fortable effect. 


wanting, 


The most necessary furniture was 
or indigently represented. It could 
hardly be supposed that there was disorder in a 
place so empty, and yet such was nevertheless 
the case. The few tables and chairs were loaded 
with books, papers, and all manner of objects. 
Even the floor was covered with writings and 
wearing apparel, indicating that negligence 
reigned supreme. Since Count Mirabeau had 
exchanged his unfortunate wanderings for a resi- 
dence in Paris, he had not been able to acquire 
accommodations suitable to his rank. He was 
only beginning to lay the foundation of a better 
future; but all was uncertainty. His finances 
were in a most deplorable condition; and the de- 
scendant of one of the oldest and most renowned 
noble families in Provence was leading a kind of 
bivouac-life, altogether unworthy of him. Yet, 
in his very moderate circumstances, he had man- 
aged to retain a shadow of aristocratic fashion. 
He not only had a footman, but provided him 
with so rich a livery that the poverty of the mas- 
ter certainly could not be indicated by the ap- 
He also had a secre- 
tary, who would be useful to him in the aspiring 
literary labors he had lately undertaken. The 
latter lived in a small back-room, opening into 
Mirabeau’s dwelling. At this moment the side- 
door opened, and the head of a young man, sur- 
mounted by a red, turban-like cloth, looked cu- 
riously and smilingly at them, 

“You are not wanted, M. Hardy,” exclaimed 










| UNIVE RSIT Y) 
Mirabeau, dismissing 
of his hand. 
Henriette looked so pale and exhausted, that 
Mirabeau begged her to step into an adjoining 
cabinet, where she would find every thing neces- 
sary for her refreshment; but she begged not to 
be left alone. 


conveniences in the room, and regarded him with 


She sat on a sofa, one of the few 


her gentle yet brilliant eyes, while an expression 
akin to adoration passed over her lovely counte- 
nance, which had suddenly changed from a deathly 
pallor toa rosy glow. Mirabeau sat in the middle 
of the room at breakfast, which the footman had 
just served. Henriette had refused repeated in- 
vitations to share with him in this repast, and 
sat at some distance opposttesaa not once turning 
from him, but watching all his “motions as if in 
After he had finished his 
breakfast, with his natural Jaissez-aller, he again 


pleasurable surprise. 


seated himself beside her, tenderly seizing her. 
hand and looking searchingly into her eyes. 

“T have followed you,” she began to say, ina 
scarcely audible voice; “and I do not ask what 
is to become of me, for it was my free choice to 
I feel that all I 
am and ever will be really depends on you. I do not 


place my destiny in your hands. 


wish it otherwise, for I have found myself driven 
by an unconquerable influence. Will you never 
Will you 


never secretly think less of me, because, forget- 


despise me for it, Count Mirabeau ? 


ting all my duties, thinking only of your words 
that so strangely overcame me, I went as if a part 
of you?” It was the first time that she spoke to 
Until that moment 
she had only ventured to signify by broken ex- 


him in a consecutive manner. 


pressions what was passing in her mind, and the 
feeling that had become stronger than her former 
conscientiousness, 

* AG passionately, 
“Henriette, you bless me by this doubt, which 
By fol- 
lowing me so confidingly, you have forever made 


exclaimed Mirabeau, 
is only another confession of your love. 


me your debtor—jour slave—and my gratitude 
will never cease. I shall be at your feet in what- 
ever condition the changes of life may find us, 
What is esteem? A poisoned instrument of 


36 


social superstition! Despots and the privileged 
classes desire esteem, on account of their posi- 
tions, because in their vanity they cannot base 
them on love and liberty. What I am forced to 
esteem, I can despise. But we, my dearest 
friend—if we love truly and honorably; accord- 
ing to the laws of God and Nature, we are worthy 
of each other’s respect, and far below us lie both 
the veneration and contempt of-the crowd.” 

Henriette was listening happily and dreamily 
to sophistries designed to excuse both her and 
him, and when he ceased was about to reply. 
She was prevented by the loud cries of a child. 
Alarmed, she sprang up, regarding the count with 
such perplexity that he burst into loud laughter. 

“That is my little Lucas crying,” said Mira- 
beau. “If it piPses you, Henriette, let us pay 
him a visit, for I have a great desire to introduce 
this little member of my family to you. The boy 
must have a strong voice to be heard at such a 
distance.” He arose and led Henriette quickly 
to the door, through a short passage, and into 
another apartment belonging to the same suite 
of rooms. There stood a cradle, in which lay a 
boy of about two years of age. He seemed to 
be in a violent passion with his nurse, but yet no 
one could behold him without admiring his ex- 
traordinary beauty. Henriette entered hesitating- 
ly, approaching the child with smiling astonish- 
ment, while a deep blush overspread her cheeks. 
She then looked around at Mirabeau, who was 
following her, and whose countenance expressed 
a tenderness such as one could scarcely have ex- 
pected from his usually repulsive features. 

The nurse was a country-girl, dressed in the 
Provence costume. On a sign from the count 
she raised the child and held it toward him for 
his greeting, which was accompanied with such 
lively and playful caresses that the boy was soon 
quieted, and even began to crow merrily. 

“¢T have the honor to present to you my little 
darling ‘Coco,’” said Mirabeau to Henriette, with 
difficulty loosening the hands of the boy from his 
hair. “I have adopted him, although I have not 
given him my name,” he continued, kissing and 


patting the child. 


COUNT MIRABEAU. 


He is a lively and honest little fellow. It is a 
pleasure to see him in his tantrums; and then 
again he listens with a grave face when ‘told that 
he must become a sensible man, who is to be the 
avenger of poor France, so ill used by her 
‘tyrants.”* Mirabeau’s playfulness threw such a 
charm over his whole manner that Henriette 
could not refrain from seizing his hand,/ and 
pressing it tenderly, when it happened to touch 
hers, as she took the child from him. Then she 
contemplated the little Lucas with a sympathy 
momentarily heightened by comparing him with 
the count. Apparently pleased with the boy, she 
pressed him again and again tenderly to her 
bosom, then suddenly replaced him in his cradle, 
while a profound sadness seemed to take posses- 
With her head bowed down, she re- 
mained for some minutes in silent thoughtfulness. 


sion of her. 


Mirabeau recalled her from her dream, raising his 
forefinger in a sportively threatening manner, and 
exhorting her to bring back her thoughts to him 
and the present. 
ed his offered arm. 
“Lucas Montigny will go to sleep again,” he 
said, in that good-natured tone which to Henri- 
ette seemed to add a new charm to his usually 


Henriette sighed as she accept- 


impassioned utterance. - ‘We shall now leave 


him and return to ourselves. I have a presenti- 
ment that we three—Mirabeau, Henriette,- and 
Will 
you not be as a guardian angel to the young 


Coco—are destined to be a happy family. 


rogue I love so much, under whose wings he may 
be fostered, and become a true, honest, and great 
man? For are not you and I bound together in- 
dissolubly ? And, as a cupid, you must take this 
lovely little boy into the bargain of our union. 
Is it not so, my friend ?” 

Henriette nodded, but when they had returned 
to the sitting-room, overwhelmed by her feelings, 
she fell into his arms, and held him long in her 
embrace. ‘He is your son, Mirabeau, is he 

not?” she asked, looking up to him timidly and 
’ bashfully. * 
“The little fellow is an enigma, as I have told 
you, Henriette!” replied Mirabeau, evasively. 





“His name is Lucas Montigny. | 


“Ts he the son of Sophie de Monnier or of the 


THE MYSTERIOUS “CHILD. 


Countess de Mirabeau?” sheasked again, almost 
entreatingly. Her heart was tormented by a 
painful uncertainty, and, for the sake of her own 
peace of mind, she thought it necessary to dis- 
cover more about this child. 

“ Ah, my innocent Henriette, “replied Mira- 
beau, smiling, “I see that the stories of my life 
But 


where are they not known? You are aware, 


have penetrated even into your convent. 


then, how Sophie and I once loved each other. 
We were martyrs to society—at least, to some of 
its unreasonable demands. Abandoned, as on a 
tempestuous sea, we sought each other’s safety. 
The tyranny of her family had forced upon her a 
husband old and disagreeable; and I was de- 
livered over to a despotic father, by an unnatural 
and execrable law, which, for years, dragged me 
from prison to prison. At Pontarlier, where I 
was confined last, I saw Sophie. Each loved in 
the other freedom, happiness, lost youth; and, at 
that calamitous moment, our destinies were 
united. How could it be otherwise? We fled 
separately, and met as lovers on the boundaries of 
Switzerland ; but, as might be expected, our rela- 
tionship, believe me, was the source of the most 
bitter persecution and suffering! We lived a 
love-life in Holland ; but who can tell our mental 
_ agony? The voice of conscience intruded upon 
_ our pleasures, and our iniquitous dream of love 
was only another adversity. In the midst of our 
mingled happiness and sorrow, the arm of justice 
overtook us. I was carried to Vincennes, she to 
the convent at Gien, where, soon after her arrival, 
‘she gave birth to a daughter, the only offspring 
of our wicked love, and who died in a few months, 
Soon nothing remained of this melancholy ro- 
mance but its memory, woven into a web of 
poetic thought by the exchange of letters from 
prison to cloister, These, perhaps, will take a 
- classic place among compositions of a tender 
, nature! But, Henriette, my inmost heart, after 
all, was not touched, It remained for another and 
truer love—for you—to renew my life! The 
noisy little Lucas Montigny shall not disturb us 
in it.” 

Henriette listened to her lover with profound 





37 


attention. All he said was to her so important 
that she accepted it, as it were, with her eyes, 
and hid it in her heart. 
ifested a certain devotion and indeed veneration. 


She folded her hands on her bosom, and stood 


Her countenance man- 


smiling before him, to follow his decision, and 
hear his judgment of herself. 

Mirabeau had passed his youth, being thirty- 
five years of age; but his appearance expressed 
youthful feeling, united with great physical 
strength, and a supple gracefulness, all successful 
in removing the first impression of his extraordi- 
nary ugliness of feature. At this moment, Hen 
riette was subject more than ever to the magic 
charm of his personality, and clung to him as a 
child that can make no resistance ; but her doubts 
were not entirely dissolved. ~ fa few moments 
she relapsed into thought; then she regarded him 
with her questioning and entreating eye, gently 
asking : “ And the Countess de Mirabeau?” 

“The Countess de Mirabeau!” he repeated, 
“This fair lady bears 
no relation whatever to me or to little Lucas. 
At the time 
I most needed the consoling hand of woman she 


with a convulsive gesture. 
Emilie de Marigny never loved me. 


manifested “a cruel indifference, and turned from 
me. My marriage with her was one of the follies 
of my age. I was only in my twenty-first year 
when I committed it. It originated from my 
roving, adventurous life, resisting my father’s 
wishes, who desired to see me a country gentle- 
man in Provence, a pious cultivator of the earth 
on our hereditary estates. I might have become 
a good soldier, for, in my seventeenth year, I was 
a lieutenant, and participated in the campaign 
against Corsica. But my parent’s avarice and 
dislike prevented him from buying a higher com- 
So I thought I would try a 


country-life in companionship with a rich and . 


mission for me. 


beautiful lady, and Emilie de Marigny became my 
wife. 


a deception as well as the riches of my consort, 


The peace of this new life, however, was 


which belonged to the future, and at that time 
only amounted to a yearly income of six thousand 
francs, But this miserable existence with her 
lasted two years, during which, by the talent I 


38 


have for making debts, I drew after me a multi- 
tude of creditors, who demanded of me more than 
My unfeeling 
father made this a new cause to subject me again 
to that terrible scourge, the Jettres de cachet, kill- 
ing personal liberty, even in the bosom of fam- 
ilies, 
prison to prison, as one or the other appeared safer 


one “hundred thousand francs. 


He again incarcerated me, driving me from 
or more intolerable. From this moment Emilie 
withdrew herself from me, refusing to be in any 
way associated with my destiny. I have never 
seen her since. The boy she bore me after the 
first year of our union died, and in him the 
pledge also of reconciliation with her and my 
family, on which I had counted. We became and 
remain forever separated. You have doubtless 
heard that, after my liberation from Vincennes, I 

i I did 
this because I earnestly desired to reéstablish all 


endeavored to effect a reunion with her. 
my personal relations. I wished to renounce all 
the extravagances of my youth, and occupy be- 
fore the world a good social position, working 
with all my might to gain a higher and wor- 
thier name. I must own that the great fortune 
of which Emilie had become mistress did have 
some influence on me. I hoped to obtain those 
advantages from society which can only be 
snatched, as it were, with difficulty, when we ap- 
pear with empty pockets. I knew I could more 
easily rise to those high places my country will 
one day acknowledge as my right, and I would 
have raised Emilie with me; but, blinded by the 
evil counsel of her father, she refused to return, 
and we entered into a violent and passionate dis- 
_pute, not only before the courts of justice, but 
before all France. She had a memoir printed 
against me that destroyed the last consideration 
of a reunion. When the divorce was finally pro- 
nounced, my only emotion was that of joy at this 
release from “bondage !—But the sweetest com- 
pensation for my sufferings I have now received. 
I saw you, Henriette, and your divine gentleness, 
goodness, and beauty, made me a prisoner at the 
first glance. We now enter into a new and en- 
during bond, that promises me new happiness, 
and a new life from this day!” 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


- Henriette regarded him with grateful eyes, 
clinging tenderly to his side. Her countenance 
beamed with innocence, mingled with a joyful 
courage and confidence. She seemed to strengthen 
herself in the resolutions she was making for 
led her 


mselves. 


Mirabeaw. He took her hand and agai 
to the sofa, where they both seated 

“Ts it not so, Henriette, that we have entered 
into a perpetual bond of love? ” he asked, lay- 
ing his hand on her shoulder. “Let us be faith- 
You will not leave 
You will hold my destiny under the protec- 
Your hand will 


soften the rough traits in my character, which I 


ful companions through life ! 
me? 
tion of your beautiful eyes. 


inherited from my unnatural father, and you will 
change them into grace and virtue? I feel that 
your presence will make amends to me for the 
crimes of a paternal despotism as unparalleled as 
it was unmerited. : 

*“* And how, such as I see you here, could your 
father hate and persecute you ?” asked Henriette, 
naively. 

“Oh,” replied Mirabeau, with bitter recollec- 
tion, “this hatred was born with me; it dark- 
ened the earliest years of my childhood! My 
father, the Marquis de Mirabeau, disliked me at 
first, because I was uglier than my brothers and 
sisters. -He became my bitterest enemy, and is 
so even to the present day, because I once said, 
in the proud consciousness of my strength and 
youth, that he ought to indulge me in my pref- 
erences, if he possessed any self-love, for the 
renown I intended to gain would partly be as- 
cribed to him.* My haughty and obstinate father 
could never forgive me for this, and he resolved 
He, the ‘ Ami des Hommes’ (the 
title he gave to one of his most famous works, 


to destroy me. 


with which he intended to serve the interests 
especially of the nation and generally of man- 
kind), became the wolf of his own family, whom 
he attacked and pursued, whenever and wher- 
ever he could. He succeeded, through the court 
friendship he maintained with the ministers of 
the king, in procuring, one after another, fifty- 





* Montigny, ‘‘ Mémoires sur Mirabeau,”’ vol. i., pp. 
234, 241. 


THE MYSTERIOUS CHILD. = 


four warrants against different members of his 
family. Not only myself and my brothers and 
sisters, but his wife, my own dear mother, became 
his victims. This paternal friend of humanity 
not only imprisoned us, he wearied out the courts 
of justice in France by the scandalous processes 
he was continually instituting! And yet a man 
could do all this who certainly entertained good 
and excellent thoughts, and possessed a superior 
mind—nay, who had taken a high position among 
He wished to 
conduct society back to patriarchal life, and 


the leaders of the new school! 


make the realization of land the measure of all 
rights and duties in the state. That such advo- 
cates of reform were nothing but philanthropic 
charlatans, was proved by the Marquis de Mira- 
beau. If his views had been founded on correct 
ideas and real humanity, one of the principal pro- 
fessors of this agricultural system could not have 
borne in his heart so much hatred against his own 
kindred. My father taught me thoroughly what 
a despot is, This bitter knowledge, although I 
paid for it with the better part of my youth, may 
bear good fruit, not only for me, but for France! 


For it has been infused into all my veins that. 


resistance to unjust authority is the true battle 
of life in our day. All will soon have to rise 
against oppressive power, however sanctified—all 
who do not consider individual right, society, 
honor, liberty, and happiness, as mere chimeras! 
By means of my quarrels with my father, I have 
caught a glimpse of the inner corruption of this 
French monarchy—of the iniquitous tribunals, 
where court influence and bribery may make a 
mockery of right and justice! To such author- 
ities I was long exposed! Mournfully I passed 
my youth in prisons and fortresses; but in them 
I learned to worship freedom. In my loss the 
nation shall find her youth!” He sprang up at 
these words, and stood in the middle of the room, 
as if absorbed in his thoughts. The sun had 
risen, and, shining through the windows, its beams 
played as a halo about Mirabeau’s brow. Hen- 
riette looked at him for some time in astonish- 
_ ment, and then arose and softly approached him, 
wishing to recall him from his vision of the future 





39 


‘ 


to the present. As she came near him, she felt 
his overpowering influence over her, and lost 
courage ; for, raising her hand to touch him, she 
dropped it again. He was engaged in a soliloquy, - 
in a low voice, fighting the air with hisarms. At 
last he noticed her, as she stood with folded 
hands and in smiling expectation. 

“Ts it you, my fair, good child?” he said, ca- 
ressing her hand. “ Pardon me for withdrawing 
my thoughts from you for a moment. I was en- 
deavoring to discover what despotism really is, 
and how this vampire could steal into the free- 
born soul of man. What is it? Why, that is 
despotism when one man binds the fetters of his 
egotism on another—when one regards his fellow 
only as unthinking substance to work upon for 
his own purposes, making it take whatever form 
he pleases. But despotism is not the creative 
genius that loves thé very material on which it 
labors, inseparably uniting the thoughts of the 
worker with that material, and in his enthusiasm 
aiding him in his ideas of harmony and beauty 
of execution. Despotism is that destructive ha- 
tred always finding cause to assert itself, and at- 
tracting its object as the serpent does the inno- 
cent bird, until it approaches of its own accord 
and irresistibly perishes. Thus my father endeav- 
ored to destroy me, in order to demonstrate his 
own will and superiority, forgetting that F be- 
long to myself—to my own will—to my own mind, 
in all its faculties—capable of directing and 
moulding the life given me. Such as my un- 
happy father, is that ruler whose throne rests on 
the heads of slaves, because he thinks it danger- 
ous to recognize a free people, with whom he 
would have to enter into a relationship of love 
and right ! 

“‘This reminds me of an anecdote of my youth, 
that made the gulf between my father and myself 
wider, He surprised me once while declaiming 
passionately in my room, In his usual sarcastic 
manner he said: ‘ Ah, you are practising to be- 
‘ And 
why not, my father?’ I answered, with the in- 
‘Perhaps the Es- 
tates of France may be convoked some day, and 


come the future Demosthenes of France!’ 


considerate courage of a boy. 


40 
then I will speak!’ 


left me. 
me a single word. Not long afterward he ob- 


My father turned pale and 
For several days he avoided addressing 


tained his first warrant against me, incarcerating 
me in the fortress on the Island Rhé, ostensibly 
on account of a love-intrigue that was making 
quite a sensation, and in which I acted with the 
levity of a lieutenant of seventeen. He even in- 
tended to send me to one of the Dutch colonies 
in India, where the climate kills many a Euro- 
pean immigrant who doubts and dares its un- 
healthiness. I was saved only by the most press- 
But he 


thought himself justified in using all means of 


ing representations of his friends. 


slower torture, and, on the slightest occasion, de- 
priving me of my newly-acquired liberty. Even 
recently, when I thought myself past all these 
sufferings, his reconciliation with me is false—it 
is the soft covering of the tiger’s claw. He not 
only withholds the yearly allowance he had prom- 
ised me to reéstablish myself respectably, and 
through want of which I am exposed to distress- 
ing embarrassments, but he immediately laid a 
judicial interdict on me, publishing the statement 
that he and the fortune of his family would not 
In this way he still 
revenges himself on the boy who dared dream of 


be responsible for my debts. 


the freedom of France and the future convocation 
of the Estates.” 

At this moment a loud knocking was heard, 
which seemed to have a terrifying effect on Mira- 
beau. 
ity. The knocking continued and was accompa- 


He stopped and looked around in perplex- 


nied with voices, demanding an entrance to im- 
patient men. Henriette at first considered this 
interruption as something quite natural, and in- 
tended to open the door, but was restrained by 
With a 
sort of despairing gesture, contrasting with the 


the urgent signs Mirabeau made her. 


heroic character he had just been delineating, he 
laid his finger on his lips, intimating a necessity 
for silence. Henriette felt very uneasy, remem- 
bering that it might be a search for her own per- 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


son, and her pale face expressed solicitude and 
fear. In her rash but confiding surrender of her- 
self to Mirabeau, she had not thought of this 
probability. One of the doors opened, admitting 
the footman, hastily followed by Hardy, the secre- 
tary. They approached and whispered something 
to the count, who suspiciously shook his head. 
“T thought it might be some of my hungry 
creditors, who have latterly disturbed at times 
my morning rest,” said Mirabeau, deliberating ‘a 
moment. ‘But you have ascertained that two 
police-officers are outside, and that surprises me. 
Let one of you glide down the back-stairs, and, 
going to the front, accidentally begin a conversa- 
tion with those gentlemen; perhaps you may ex- 
It is possible that 
my dear father has again sent after me, for lettres 
de cachet are to be had for the asking in France.” 
The secretary undertook this commission and 
left. 
and saw how frightened and trembling she was, 


tract from them their object. 


When Mirabeau looked again at Henriette, 


seated on the sofa, another thought occurred to 
him. 

“T must also take care of you, my lovely Hen- 
riette!” he said, approaching her quickly, and 
drawing her away by her hand. He led her toa 
closet, opening it hastily. Inside this was an- 
“ This 
is the entrance to a small cabinet, that no one can 
find!” he whispered. « ‘‘ You must hide here for 


a short time, my love, until we know what those 


other door, which he opened by a spring. 


policemen want. . Go in fearlessly, Henriette, for 
since you have become Mirabeau’s companion you 
But all 
good angels will protect your soul and body.” 


have entered the region of adventure! 


Hardy returned with the intelligence that the 
officers were in pursuit of a young lady, who had 
disappeared from a convent in Paris during the 
night, and who was suspected of being concealed 
in Count Mirabeau’s dwelling. The doors were 
ordered to be at once thrown open. The police 
sergeants made, as they thought, a very thorough 
search of the house, and, politely bowing, departed. 


- 


“THE WEDDING OF FIGARO.” 





CHAPTER VI. 
MADAME DE NEBRA. 


THE investigations of the police concerning 
Henriette were continued from day to day with 
increased zeal, and Mirabeau noticed that his 
dwelling was constantly watched. The prioress 
of the convent, the Countess de Montessuy, ex- 
pressed everywhere her suspicions of Mirabeau, 
and exerted herself, with all her influential con- 
nections in Paris, to regain possession of her fu- 
gitive protégée. According to Sister Angelica’s 
information, she considered Henriette exposed to 
all that could destroy her happiness, both for the 
present and the future. She raised such an alarm 
about the affair, that public attention was drawn 
toward it, and Mirabeau did not see any security 
either for himself or his new friend. It was the 
more necessary to come to a decision, as for some 
days past poor Henriette lived like a prisoner, 
being obliged to remain concealed in the secret 
cabinet, which on several occasions had demon- 
strated its security. 

“We must flee from this painful situation!” 
said Mirabeau one morning to Henriette, who was 
looking at him in surprise, and with a happy 
smile. “I know,” he continued, “ you have not 
missed your freedom, on account of your previous 
life, my child! Your eyes are more brilliant, al- 
though obliged to hide behind these dark walls. 


But wait, my pretty prisoned bird, your hour of 





freedom will soon come, and I will carry you far- 
ther away, and make you happy.” 

“Am I not happy?” asked Henriette, mirth- 
fully. 
onment? I think my cloistered cell was much 


“ And do you call being with you impris- 


smaller; I find plenty of room here to dance 
with joy. The air of the convent-garden, with 
all its perfumes, never gave me such a sense of 
freedom as I have in this little cabinet, my 
friend; the warbling birds in the trees that 
once flung their shadows upon my window were 
never so delightful to me as your little, laughing 
Lucas.” 

“Your amiable heart is happy,” replied Mira- 
beau, “but I am not happy! I am weary of 
playing jailer for you, who, instead of being thus 
caged, should be out in the sweet breezes of the 
spring. We must go to London. In the mean 
time all will be forgotten, and when we return 
you will be a different person, bearing another 
name. Let us call you a native of Albion—you 
are as fair and rosy as any of her daughters, my 
love. If we can procure a passport for you as 
being of that country, we are safe from all moles- 
tation here. Should we continue longer in this 
undignified situation, besieged by the police, your 
noble prioress will overwhelm us with her atten- 
tions before we are aware of them, and we may 
have the pleasure of being escorted into some 
prison, which is rather worse than your peaceful 
convent.” 


“ And will they separate us?” asked Henri- 


42 


“Yes, Mira- 
beau, let us go to London to-day—this very 


ette, anxiously clasping his arm. 


hour ! 
not?” 


“ Certainly,” replied Mirabeau, smiling, “ we can- 


But we take little Lucas with us, do we 


not leave without him. I took an oath never to 
separate from the merry boy. But, alas! we are 
not ready to think of immediate departure, and 
that has put me out of humor. To tell you frank- 
ly the truth, I have no money. And I do not see 
Iam 

He 
bas suddenly announced to me his arrival in 
I will take 
counsel with him, as he knows all my circum- 


quite clearly how I am to secure your exit. 
expecting my friend Chamfort this morning. 
Paris, and intends to pay me a visit. 
stances. I hope my wily Auvergnat will be able 
to point out the best means for me to overcome 
every difficulty.” 

“Why not take counsel with me, my friend ?” 
exclaimed Henriette, leaning fondly against him. 
“Am I not also your friend? Perhaps I may 
have some good idea, although I was not born in 
Let us 
begin about money. Is it possible that all is 


Auvergne as your friend Chamfort was. 


gone, since—” 

“Since,” interrupted Mirabeau, laughing aloud, 
Yes, 
my child, the treasures you brought, and so gener- 


“we had so much of it a few days ago. 


ously placed at my disposal, have disappeared. 
As you would not have it otherwise, and at your 
express bidding, I laid my sacrilegious hands 
upon the casket, and sold the rings, bracelets, 
and the rest of the jewelry. 
gifts of friendship. 
by no means insignificant, and which you doubt- 


They were no doubt 
The gold you also gave me, 


less saved from your pocket-money, my poor 
child, has gone the same road that all Mirabeau’s 
possessions are destined to go. Is it not terri- 
ble?” 

Henriette sighed, and looked gravely into his 
eyes; then she burst into laughter. 

“Tt is true,” continued Mirabeau, with a tragi- 
comic gesture, ‘money cannot remain with me; 
and I have suffered from this weakness all my 
life. 
faculty of flight to all the points of the compass. 


As soon as I touch money, it acquires a 





COUNT MIRABEAUD. 


I should never have any, even though I stood on 
mountains of gold. I am in that respect really 
unfortunate. A state of society, in which there 
exists a class of men called ‘creditors,’ will not 
do forme. By their action, all that is valuable in 
a community becomes annihilated, and the purse 
The three thou- 
sand francs I was to receive yearly from my 


of the cavalier is a delusion. 


family, according to our last agreement, are kept 
back by my father on account of my improvi- 
dence. He deducts this allowance as part-pay- 
ment for his former outlay in satisfying my credi- 
tors. I am in the condition of the frog under the 
air-pump—soon I shall not even know where to 
find material for breath.” 3 

It was the habit of Count Mirabeau continu- 
ally to complain of his financial affairs, not spar- 
ing any of his*friends. But the profound and 
real depression showing itself in his whole man- 
ner was mingled with so much that was ludicrous, 
that his friends easily forgot the painfulness of 
the subject, and gladly submitted to the more 
cheerful transition of loaning him small amounts. 
Even Henriette felt at this moment that she must 
do something more to alleviate the embarrass- 
ment in which her friend found himself, for it was 


unworthy of his usual dignity and greatness. 


The poor child had already thrown into the abyss 


of her affection every thing she possessed of any 
worth ; but her desire to assist was so great, that 
she thought of a means which until now she had 
considered out of the question. She drew from 
her bosom the locket set with pearls containing 
the likeness of her father, and handed it to her 
lover, without even looking at it. 

Mirabeau was generally ready to accept. any 
thing at the hands of his friends, and without 
seeming to place any value on important sacrifi- 
ces made by them; but he took the locket from 
her only to replace it around her neck, reproach- 
Then kissing her 
he said: “ Blessed is he that can keep the mem- 


ing her with her imprudence. 


ory of his father in his heart. On no account 
would I deprive you of this locket. The re 
nowned Van Haren was a man of unimpeachable 
honor, let us celebrate his memory in our union!” 


MADAME DE NEHRA. 


“Something else has just*occurred to me!” 
exclaimed Henriette, joyfully clapping her hands. 
“T have a legacy to receive in Brussels, and how 
foolish of me not to think of it sooner! 
left me by one of my father’s relatives, who re- 


It was 


sided in that city. The amount is only four 
thousand francs, Mirabeau, and we must be satis- 
fied with that. 
the judicial decree to take possession of the 


I received, only a few days ago, 


money, You can comprehend how I forgot all 
about it in the momentous events that have re- 
cently taken place in my life. But the paper 
was in the casket containing the rest of my few 
possessions.” 

“Then it is quite possible that, in my careless- 
ness, I have thrown it away,” said Mirabeau, 
hastening to his writing-table to seek the case, 
which he had retained. The paper was there, 
and he opened it quickly, while Henriette leaned 
over his shoulder, awaiting his look of gratifica- 
“This is all right,” said he, coolly, “the 
money is certainly yours, and can be realized at a 


tion. 
moment’s notice. When we arrive in Brussels 
we shall attend to it; for we must pass through 
that city on our way to London. This will pre- 
vent us from arriving at our destination as quick- 
ly as perhaps we ought to do, on your account, 
fair fugitive. But this business shall, neverthe- 
less, be settled, I assure you. We must now 
think of means whérewith to reach Brussels, and 
that is a trifle. 


shall see how we can raise a sufficient sum for 


As soon as Chamfort comes we 
that purpose. Through him I am speculating on 
the purse of Madame Helvetius, who gladly ap- 
plies her superabundant means for the benefit of 
her friends.” 

Henriette did not seem pleased with the 
manner in which Mirabeau received the intelli- 
gence of her good fortune; her sweet mouth 
quivered slightly; but, almost immediately after, 
she was again the good-tempered, confiding child, 
having no desire but that of subjection to him, 
and an agreement in his decisions as sincere as 
though they were her own. 

Some one slightly knocked twice at the door; 
and Mirabeau, recognizing the manner of his 





43 


Wel- 
His friend entered quickly, 


friend, exclaimed: ‘Come in, Chamfort! 
come, Chamfort!” 
and they greeted each other with much hearti- 
ness. 

“ And shall we be together again in Paris, my 
friend and master?” asked Mirabeau, seizing his 
hand in a more tender manner than he ever mani- 
fested to his other friends. ,‘‘ I thought as much ; 
with your restlessness and love of change, you 
could never stay long in the philosophic pastoral 
life of Auteuil.” 

‘Chamfort became aware of Henriette’s pres- 
ence, as she was blushingly intending to leave 
the room; but Mirabeau introduced her to his 
friend, 

“This is Henriette,” said the count, solemnly, 
“who has the courage to become my companion 
You be- 
hold her now with your own eyes, and you find 


in life, and the sharer of my destiny ! 


that my description of her in my letters to you 
have been far below the truth. Her beauty alone 
might have won her a throne; but she prefers to 
journey through life with the unstable Mirabeau. 
She is goodness and gentleness themselves—one 
of those conscientious, elevated souls, in whose 
society you feel safe and at home. I swear to 
you that I do not deserve her, but hope one day 
to be worthy of her love.” * 

Henriette hastened to him, placing her hand on 
his mouth, and entreated him anxiously to cease 
praising her. Then she quickly passed into the 
adjoining room, after greeting Chamfort, who ad- 
dressed her many flattering words. 

“ You are enviable, on account of your talent 
to create your own happiness, and arrange your 
affairs to your satisfaction!’ said Chamfort, 
looking for some time at the door by which Hen- 
“My life, on the con- 
trary, is composed of nothing but contradictions,” 


riette had disappeared. 


he continued, a melancholy and almost bitter 
emotion shadowing his usually cheerful and hand- 
some countenance. “I am again driven to Paris 
and into new circumstances, for which I am really 


not fitted; but, as usual, they were forced upon 





* The words of Mirabeau in reference to Henriette.— 
** Lettres de Mirabeau 4 Chamfort,”’ pp. 76, 87, 92. 


44 


me by the eccentric irony of my fate. You see 
me here in the city because the Marquis de Vau- 
dreuil has invited me to live in his house, where 
he has offered me a brilliant refuge, free from 
He has done this only from his 


well-known magnanimity and love for art and 


any conditions. 


literature.” 

“So my master Chamfort will henceforth be at 
home in the Rue de Bourbon, in the magnifi- 
cent Palace Vaudreuil?” said Mirabeau, smiling. 
‘Well, you have again entered the most eminent 
and brilliant society; you will scarcely be able to 
avoid association with the court and its adhe- 
rents. For the good marquis is not only a protec- 
tor of the fine arts, he belongs to the more inti- 
mate friends of the queen. He is the most familiar 
friend of the Countesses Diana and Julie de Poli- 
gnac, and through them has become one of the 
favorite few beginning to form a special set around 
Marie Antoinette. 
of making new court studies, and the events you 


You will have an opportunity 


witness will be made useful to our epoch. I am 
glad of it, for you know I regard myself particu- 
larly as your pupil, Chamfort, always learning 
from your wise levity and ever-sparkling wit.” 
“But it renders me petulant to think that my 
life should be made up of such direct contradic- 
tion to my principles !”” replied Chamfort, looking 
really irritable. 
noble persons, and yet I am continually brought 


“JT have no love for high and 


into relationship with them, The religion for 
which I could have the most enthusiasm is that 
of liberty; and yet my destiny is ever associating 
mé, in one way or another, with princes, princess- 
es, and aristocrats, in whose atmosphere my re- 
publican soul must suffer hunger and thirst. I 
also love voluntary poverty, and yet I suffer the 
rich to seduce and use me for the purpose of 
making mind an article of luxury. I was weak 
enough to yield to the urgency of the Marquis de 
Vaudreuil. At all events, I shall find myself 
better situated with him than at the palace of the 
Prince de Condé, who actually conferred on me 
the position of secretary. However, I broke this 
chain as soon as I felt it chafe.” 

“There was another motive that decided you 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


to throw up your place, my noble friend,” said 
Mirabeau, fervently offering his hand to Cham- 
fort. “You pitied the young man who fulfilled 
your duties for a small salary, and who had a 
mother to support. You conjured the prince to 
accept your resignation, and to bestow the situa- 
tion, with its title and income, on him who per- 
Such 
traits ought to be written in metal and marble, 


formed the labor while almost starving. 


demonstrating to those who would throw sus- 
picions on our morality, because we are striving 
after liberty, that we are the true minds and the 
pure hearts of this epoch!” 
“Let us not think too highly of ourselves, 
Mirabeau!” replied Chamfort, all his satire show- 
ing itself in his features. “It is generally our 
egotism that hides itself behind our so-called 
generous motives, of which we make, as it were, 
a grand festive costume. How do you know 
whether I would have given up my position in 
favor of a poor man, if my otherwise profitable 
connection with the Prince de Condé had really 
not been disagreeable to me? What drove me 
away was the desire to live poor, but contented, 
I became the benefactor of the 
young man because I wished to do myself a 


in solitude. 


favor. Great happiness seemed within my reach. 
My friend Lydia had become free by the sudden 
death of her husband, and she consented to 
begin a new life with me in utter obscurity. 
She was no longer young. Of her once match- 
less beauty nothing remained but the charming 
expression of her countenance and the brilliancy 
of her eyes; but her heart and mind were adora- 
bly young, and her eloquence captivated me, 80 
that I felt no other desire than to unite myself 
with her. 
but until then had possessed none. 


I had loved many women in my life, 
Now, Lydia 
was mine. I felt her to be my own, tenderly as a 
mother, firmly and confidingly as my friend. I 
could have never believed that, only three miles 
from Paris, in a little retired village, one could 
live as in a paradise. My evil genius, however, 
sought me even there in a most unexpected man- 
ner. Lydia died in my arms, and my Eden be- 


came a wilderness. I could not bear solitude any 


MADAME DE NEHRA. 


longer. Even the quiet at Auteuil, with our friend 
Madame Helvetius, who received me so hospita- 
bly and consolingly, began to pain me deep in my 
heart. I left the Prince de Condé to bury myself 
in obscurity, which to me was more desirable, for 
love was beckoning me. NowI reénter the fan- 
tastic whirl of Paris life, accepting a home in the 
splendid house of Vaudreuil, only because I can- 
not now be at rest unless in the tumult of the 
world. Herein consists the paradox of my exist- 
ence, loving solitude, and yet seeking society to 
heal my heart’s wounds. Now, tell me, friend 
Mirabeau, whether all in this miserable world to 
which we belong is not masquerade and ego- 
tism?” Chamfort laughed aloud, walking hastily 
up and down the room, and repeatedly altering 
his merriment to different keys. Mirabeau ex- 
pressed his sympathy at the misfortune of his 
friend, in the eloquent, ardent words that were 
always at his command. “TI had almost forgotten 
to deliver a message to you from the Marquis de 
Vaudreuil,” Chamfort continued. “He sends 
The ‘Wedding of 


Figaro,’ by Beaumarchais, is to be given at the 


you this card of invitation. 


marquis’s palace to-morrow night, and he lays 
great stress upon it that you should not fail to 
appear among the invited guests. Many persons 
from court circles will be present; it is intended 
to gain the approbation of the king and queen 
for the novel and wonderful comedy that has 
had such a curious history even while still in 
The friends of the author, one of 


whom the marquis is, hope to carry their point 


manuscript. 


of having the piece acted in public, by a coup de 
main they have in view to-morrow.” 

Mirabeau took the card, looking at it silently 
for some time, as if meditating. At length he 
said: “I accept the invitation of M: de Vau- 
dreuil, although, as you know, I have not the least 
interest in the comedy of the speculator Beaumar- 
chais. According to all I have heard of it, I am 
This Beau- 
marchais may have a keen ear; he may, while at 
a distance, hear the cries of the ill-omened birds 
announcing the death of the present time, and, 


not curious to know even the plot. 


making good use of his faculty, compose a sort 


45 


of prophetic-satiric comedy, such as this ‘Wed- 
ding of Figaro’ is said to be—but he does all only 
for money. I have no sympathy with a man, nor 
can I count him as one of us, who makes a trade 
of liberty and the emotions. He calls himself 
Beaumarchais the American, yet what did he do 
for American liberty? Nothing, except that, in 
his commercial activity, which aims to turn every 
thing to a mercenary account, he delivered arms 
to the new republicans for their first campaigns. 
He made enormous profits by this transaction, 
not only demanding the highest prices, but giving 
in return useless guns, and damaged hats and 
Besides filling his pockets, he had the 
satisfaction of being accused of secretly providing 


shoes. 


foreigners with arms—thus triumphing in the es- 
timation of the world as a martyr to liberty. Oh, 
I know the creature; and such a mere traffic is 
this piece. How does it happen that a man like 
Beaumarchais takes as the subject for an amusing 
comedy, the sad condition of the age—the false- 
hood of modern society? When, at some future 
. time, we fight our battles for freedom, this man 
will be the Figaro of our revolution—the knavish 
jester who made fun of the most sacred aspira- 
tions, but who took care to profit by his hu- 
mor!” 

“T know that you do not like Beaumarchais,” 
replied Chamfort, “ but if you do not come on ac- 
count of the comedy itself, you might for the en- 
tertainment I assure you you will find at the resi- 
dence of M. de Vaudreuil to-morrow night. A 
kind of art conspiracy has been formed against 
the court, of which the most influential courtiers 
are members. They intend to make the king be- 
lieve, after the representation, that Beaumarchais 
has materially altered the play, and that nothing 
remains in it of that which, at its rehearsal, ex- 
cited the anger of the king in the highest degree. 
The good Marquis de Vaudreuil, wishing to sacri- 
fice himself in every way for the fine arts, has of- 
fered his connivance and assistance in this dan- 
gerous intrigue, which, in fact, he partly arranged. 
Whatever demon is whispering into the ear of 
these people, it is certain that he is impelling 





them to mischief. This excitement will cheer and 


46 


amuse you, Mirabeau. The king is said to have 
exclaimed, when hearing Figaro’s monologue, 
levelled as it is at the French administration : 
‘This man derides and disturbs all that ought to 
be honored in a government, and I will never 
permit his comedy to be acted anywhere in 
France!’ The appointed representation in the 
Hotel des Menus Plaisirs was forbidden by a spe- 
cial order from his majesty, and the audience de- 
parted, venting their displeasure in violent ex- 
clamations. Some of the court society (particu- 
larly the Count de Provence, the patron of 
Beaumarchais) have misgivings on account of 
this incident; and, say what you will, it is in 
some respects a serious affair. Were not such 
flattering expressions as ‘tyranny’ and ‘ oppres- 
sion’ heard even in the street?* The courtiers 
consider it much less dangerous to have the piece 
acted than to deprive the public of it; but as 
Beaumarchais, obstinate and cunning as he is, 
would not change a syllable, the intrigue to be 
executed to-morrow night at Vaudreuil’s was 
thought of. It gives me pleasure, for I scent 
considerable trouble. What do you think of it, 
Mirabeau ? ” 

“The nose is the most essential instrument of 
a good politician,” replied Mirabeau, “and you 
But 
if I go to the house of M. de Vaudreuil to-mor- 
row I do it for an intrigue on my own account, 
You 
have just seen my lovely gazelle, who has taken 


know I have always done justice to yours. 


and I desire your assistance, Chamfort. 


refuge in yonder cabinet, not only from your 
eager glances, but from the police, that at any 
moment may pounce upon her. In my last letter 
I gave you a circumstantial account of Henriette’s 
adventure. Since then I have become convinced 
that I must remove her from Paris for some time, 
in order afterward to be enabled to live in safety 
and comfort. I wish to take her tu London, and 
then bring her back as a naturalized Englishwo- 
man. But I see no possibility of effecting her 
exit from this house. Secret agents are contin- 


ually lounging in the street, watching my dwell- 





* “Mémoires de Madame Campan,”’ vol. i., p. 279. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


ing; they would rob me of my dear girl. I have 
a plan, that occurred to me when I received your 
invitation from Vaudreuil. I dare say the mar- 
quis has placed one of his carriages at your dis- 
posal. I know this protector of the muses gladly 
indulges men of genius, considering it an honor 
to receive them.” 

“ Certainly,” replied Chamfort, “he lets the 
poet ride in the grand equipage of the marquis, 
and then believes that the marquis has become 
something of a poet.” 

“Very well,” said Mirabeau, “this carriage 
may do a service to my young love. Listen to 
my plan. I will go early to-morrow evening to 
the house of M. de Vaudreuil, after having made 
: Then 


you must sacrifice yourself so far for me as to 


all my arrangements for our departure. 


lose perhaps an act of the representation of the 
eomedy. You must take one of the marquis’s 
coaches and come to my dwelling at a later hour. 
Henriette will await you in such a disguise that 
She will dress 


herself in the clothes of the country-girl who is 


the police cannot recognize her. 


the nurse of my little Coco; carrying the boy in 
her arms (I intend to take him with me to Lon- 
don), she will quickly enter the carriage with you. 
The police will observe all this, but will either 
have no suspicion of the truth, or, seeing an 
equipage with the livery and crest of the Marquis 
de Vaudreuil, will not dare to attempt any intru- 
sion. On your arrival at the palace you will leave 
my friend and the child in the carriage, which you 
will safely lodge in the coach-house. As soon as 
I have an opportunity I will leave the company, 
and you must, by your influence, procure me the 
further use of this vehicle as far as the foot of 
Montmartre. 
with a travelling-coach, and I think I can reach 


There my people will await me 


the road to Brussels (to which city I intend to go 
first), without any further danger.” 

Chamfort mused for a moment, and, nodding 
to his friend, said: “You can rely on me as 
usual, Mirabeau! Arrange every thing, and I 
will obey all your instructions. Oh, I am really 
glad again to have a hand in a secret plot; and, 


above all, in one that is played at the expense of 


MADAME DE NEHRA. 


this unpopular and impudent Parisian police. 
But, for greater security, I would recommend you 
to procure a passport for Henriette under an as- 
sumed name. Command me, if I can be of any 
assistance to you in obtaining one.” 

“T was about to say that I leave the execution 
of this also to your faithful friendship,” replied 
“Tt would be useful to us, if I could 
procure an English passport for Henriette in 


Mirabeau. 


Paris, which would accredit her as an English- 
woman by birth. It would be an easy thing for 
you, who have so many connections in the capi- 
tal, and who frequent the society of distinguished 
and powerful persons, to obtain one for my dear 
friend. I think you have free access to the house 
of the British ambassador, the Marquis of Dorset. 
You are a man of great influence, my Chamfort, 
and we ought to congratulate ourselves in having 
found such a protector of our love.” 

“‘Chamfort has become a guardian of lovers!” 
he exclaimed, while a melancholy smile played 
“ But I think I can secure the 
In the house of the Marquis de Vau- 


around his lips. 
passport. 
dreuil are several English nurses, and it will not 
be extraordinary if I send the major-domo to de- 
mand a passport for one of them, who may desire 
to return to her own country. I will see to it 
that it be made out in any name you may select, 
and giving no difficulty at the government office. 
All you have to do is to decide under what name 
your beautiful Henriette is to travel.” 

“ Let us ask her,” replied Mirabeau, hastening 
to the cabinet, in which she had remained since 
The count knocked 
and called so boisterously at the door, that Hen- 
riette stepped out of her concealment with an 
expression of undisguised fear. But Mirabeau 
quieted her apprehensions by the assurance that 
nothing unpleasant had happened. The question 
. was to give a false name to her who otherwise 
was so ingenuous and true, in order to save her 
from future persecutions, 

Henriette looked at him with an anxious and 
doubting smile; then her countenance assumed a 
sad gravity, and she slowly shook her head. 

“TI understand you,” 


the entrance of Chamfort. 


exclaimed Mirabeau, 





47 


“you neither will nor can deceive; you are too 
honest and noble! But you must not be too 
serious on this point. What is the name of a 
person but a domino, in which he has been ad- 
mitted to the masquerade? Sometimes, as a jest, 
we turn the disguise, and wear it the wrong side 
outward. Our old friends, however, who always 
recognize us, only derive greater pleasure frora 
our temporary concealment.” 

“ Well, if you so turn and transpose the letters 
of my name, it is Nehra!” said Henriette, her 
natural cheerfulness returning, and her eyes again 
sparkling with happiness. ‘“ When we children in 
play turned our names, I often called myself 
‘Henriette de Nehra.’” 

“Bravo!” cried Mirabeau, kissing her hands. 
“From to-day your name is Madame de Nehra.* 
Henriette van Haren has disappeared, and this 
anagram of your childish sportiveness shall become 
the happy sign of our union and of our future! 
Friend Chamfort will procure an English passport 
for that name.” 

“T beg to present my best congratulations to 
Madame de Nehra, on this occasion of a new 
christening,” said Chamfort, approaching her, and 
offering her his hand with fervent zeal, which she 
“* Tn- 
deed,” he added with his smiling thoughtfulness, 
“TJ anticipate the happiest results from your 


received in her usually friendly manner. 


union with Mirabeau. Since you have gained 
your new name by transposing the old one, you 
obey the natural law of our era. Merely by 
rearranging affairs, a new and more beautiful life 
may be the result. Take the old letters and 
make new combinations, reverse them, resolve 
the old words into new, and we discover the 
names which embrace a joyous future. Just as 
the persecuted Henriette van Haren- becomes the 
free and victorious Henriette de Nehra!” 

She was obliged to laugh at Chamfort’s comic 
manner while thus pleasantly bantering her, and ° 
frankly accepting his hand said: “‘Whatever my 


name may be, my nature remains the same; I 





* Montigny, ‘‘Mémoires de Mirabeau,”’ vol. iv., p. 


' 146. 


48 


am nothing but a plain, silly girl, who is controlled, 
and ever will be, by her heart’s emotions.” 

“So far we have very well settled with our 
friend Chamfort,” Mirabeau recommenced. ‘“ But 
now we require his assistance in another very 


delicate affair. He knows what I mean. He is. 


looking at me with that malicious smile of his, 
always lurking about his lips, when he has sur- 
prised a poor mortal in his weakness.” 

“Yes, I know what you want, or rather what 
“ I 


have often been your father-confessor, in your 


you have not,” replied Chamfort, laughing. 


affairs of the heart, and always succeeded better 
in extricating you from such difficulties than 
The latter must be the weak- 
ness you are at present bewailing.” 


those of the purse. 


“You are right,” said Mirabeau, “you have 
hit the bird in the breast. 
crisis when a man compresses a whole existence 


Iam again at that 


into the confession—‘I have no mone !’” Hen- 


riette began to betray visible uneasiness during ~ 


this conversation. Her cheeks flushed, and, in 
the deepest confusion, she cast her eyes down- 
ward. ‘She cannot bear to hear me speak of 
financial difficulties, the dear child,” said Mira- 
**She blushes as 


if it were a shame for us all, for the whole’ world, 


beau, charmed at her aspect. 


that I have no money.” 

“On the contrary, it is a great honor for him 
to be out of pocket, Madame de Nehra!” said 
Chamfort, approaching her. ‘Count Mirabeau 
is, as usual, the representative man of his age, in 
having his finances in a continual state of disor- 
der. He is passing through the same crisis, in 
regard to his treasury, as France, distressed in all 
her resources. When you are without money, 
thoughts of salvation occur to you; for you get 
an insight into your condition, the disease of your 
organization, and thus it is easier to make reso- 
lutions leading to improvement. That is one 
reason of the hope we entertain that Mirabeau 
will one day be the savior of his country, because 
like France he has constantly an empty pocket, 
and, under such circumstances, is better able to 
study about the prosperous and generous future.” 


“Tt makes me suspicious, Chamfort, that to- 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


day you have so much to say about the philoso- 
phy of my empty purse,” said Mirabeau, while 
his high brow became clouded. 
give me neither counsel nor assistance, say so 


“Tf you can 


without circumlocution. We only want money 
to travel as far as Brussels, There we are to 
get possession of a legacy, which will carry us 
farther. But 


a small amoynt will not take me even there. 


What do you say now, Chamfort ? 


You know I cannot manage without a servant 
and a secretary, and I must have these people 
follow me immediately. Are you in funds?” 
“Our good mother Helvetius provided me with 
plenty of money when I took leave of her,” replied 
Chamfort. 
the great world, I would have many new ex- 


“She said that, as I was reéntering 


penses, and ought to have sufficient pocket-money. 
In my desk, I think, are about eight hundred 
francs, and I would be glad if you take them, 
Mirabeau. Money disturbs me in my pleasant 


dreams, and in waking moments I am constantly 


thinking of what frippery I can purchase with it. 


I want no money in the house of M. de Vaudreuil. 
I live at the expense of the marquis, and, as for 
the few trifles I may need, I have the pension 
for which I am indebted .to the beautiful Queen 
Marie Antoinette. I also intend to make a col- 
lection of my dramatic writings, and hope to ob- 
tain an academic premium, And now, farewell 
for to-day, children! To-morrow early I will 
bring you the passport and the money. All the 
rest of your arrangements shall be certainly exe- 
cuted.” 

Mirabeau embraced his friend with an expres- 
sion of the liveliest gratitude. Chamfort went 1o 
the door, then returned, and, drawing some fold- 
ed papers from his pocket, said: “I had almost 
forgotten to deliver these to you. They are the 
promised contributions for your pamphlet against 
the order of Cincinnatus, partly written by me, 
and partly by Dr. Franklin, who, at the same 
time, sends you his greetings. You may make 
use of all or none, just as it may suit you. Con- 
dorcet and Cabanis send their excuses. They are 
both working at mathematics and natural philoso- 


phy, because they have no chance in politics. 


THE TWO. INTRIGUES. 


Cabanis is killing himself in endeavoring to dis- 
cover the connection between the physical and 
moral laws of the world.” 

After Chamfort’s departure, Mirabeau said to 
Henriette, who was standing near him: “ Well, 
my love, we have a great deal of work before us 
in making preparations for our voyage. Hasten, 
therefore, for we must carry with us our movable 
possessions. Above all, we must not forget to 
pack up our little Coco, from whom we cannot be 
parted. The little fellow is to make his first at- 
tempt at crossing the channel, and the question 


is, whether he is properly equipped. As you have 


undertaken the part of his protecting genius, you |. 


will attend, of course, to all that concerns his 
welfare.” ~ 

Henriette nodded joyfully, and was about to at- 
tend to his requests, when something seemed to 
occur to her. She stood a moment thoughtfully 
in the middle of the room, and then returned 
hastily to Mirabeau. Clinging to him, she said, 
in a low, coaxing tone: “ You could much better 
Is it 
not true that he is nearer to your heart than 


live without me than without little Lucas. 
every thing else? I shall always guard him as 
the apple of my eye; and yet I am often tor- 
You 
promised to solve the enigma, but you have not 


mented about the mystery of his birth. 


kept your word, Mirabeau.” 

“T will tell you now,” replied the count, with a 
shade of solemnity: ‘‘ The Princess de Lamballe 
is the mother of little Coco. She placed the 
child she had secretly borne under my care and 
guardianship, and I swore never to be separated 
from him. AsI took this oath, I will keep it, 
* because I am greatly indebted to the princess, 
and am glad of having an opportunity to do her 
-service who was my friend in the saddest mo- 

ments of my life.” 

“And is that the only reason why you have 
adopted Coco?” asked Henriette, slowly gazing 
doubtingly at him. “ The child himself has really 
no relationship to you?” 

“Silence!” exclaimed Mirabeau, laying his 
hand on her lips. “I shall never name to vou 

the father of the child; but at some future time 


4 





49 


perhaps I will relate to you a long history about 
him.” 

Henriette did not seem quite satisfied with this 
explanation, but she dared not renew the ques- 
tion troubling her. heart. Musingly and hesitat- 
ingly she left the room. Mirabeau’s eyes fol- 
lowed her; smilingly and rapturously he contem- 
plated the delicate, youthful figure moving before 
him, who seemed disquieted by ideas that proved 


to him how greatly she desired to believe herself 
in possession 


sive right to his heart. 
Se 
“4 











OF THE & aN 
UNIVERSITY 
He, oF WD 
i roRe 
APTER VII. 






THE TWO INTRIGUES. 


From all parts of Paris the most brilliant 
equipages came to the representation of the 
“Wedding of Figaro,” by Beaumarchais, to be 
given in the theatre-hall of the Hotel Vaudreuil. 
The quiet, aristocratic Rue de Bourbon shook 
with the rattling of the numerous carriages that 
rapidly passed along, conveying the company im- 
patient to witness the comedy at the palace. 
The invited were assembled in the small drawing- 
rooms, which had a peculiar arrangement in the 
magnificent residence of the marquis. One was 
especially devoted to music, containing many dif- 
ferent instruments. In another, all was arranged 
for. the amateurs in painting; and, if any one 
wished to display his talent, even in society, he 
found paints, brushes, and pencils, ready to his 
hand, and could yield at pleasure to any improv- 
isation. In a third, the tables were covered with 
all kinds of costly copperplates and other pic- 
tures. A fourth was in the richest and most 
comfortable manner supplied with books for 
those who desired to read. The marquis, a 
friend of the arts, who was proud of being called 
the protector of the muses, instituted receptions, 
at which, during the most lively conversation, dil- 
igent work was proceeding in these saloons. 
Many a great production was here canvassed and 


50 COUNT 


planned, which afterward carried off the prize of 
the day. 

The marquis himself, one of the most brilliant 
members of society in those days, had been 
obliged to confine himself, as, to any talent for 
the fine arts, to the cultivation of an excellent 
voice; it was extraordinary, and admired by all 
who heard it. It had been the means of intro- 
He 
added so much grace of manner to this vocal en- 


ducing him to the highest court circles. 


dowment, that, although scarcely belonging to the 
more considerable minds of the age, he gained an 
influential position, assisted by his outward social 
superiority. His consequence among the literary 
men and artists of Paris was as great as the favor 
he had obtained at court. In that circle which 
had been encouraged in the immediate society of 
Its 


members were all present among those who were 


the queen, he was in fact the actual ruler. 


to witness the representation of the much-talked- 
of comedy at the Hotel Vaudreuil. 

The beautiful and amiable Countess Julie de 
Polignac, and her sister-in-law, the haughty 
Countess Diana, who sometimes condescended to 
a little coquetry, were at the head of this court 
set. These ladies had a peculiar interest in the 
effort of M. de Beaumarchais, and it was owing to 
their influence that the queen and, through the 
latter, the king agreed to allow the piece to be 
played before an invited audience, after it had 
been pretended that the author had entirely re- 
written it. Diana de Polignac, who had recently 
become lady of honor to the Countess d’Artois, 
also gained friends for the “ Wedding of Figaro” 
from that portion of the court. She found those 
who aided her in overcoming the profound dislike 
of the king for this comedy, considering it as 
inimical to his government. 
a party affair for the friends of the Count d’Ar- 
tois to oppose the king; and in this instance, in 


It became suddenly 


which he appeared narrow-minded and blind, they 
wished to show themselves great, and make a 
sort of concession to public opinion. The daring 
and arrogant Countess Diana, who had acted so 
remarkably in expressing her sympathy for 
Franklin and American liberty, stepped into the 





MIRABEAU. 


lists for the “ Wedding of Figaro,” and no one 
could easily resist her charming intrigues. 

Before the commencement of the representation 
the two Countesses de Polignac, surrounded by a 
choice company of their friends and admirers, 
stood in the music-hall, engaged in earnest con- 
versation. Their confidential words were spoken 
in a low voice, for they concerned the question of 
the day—the fitness for public exhibition of the 
comedy of Beaumarchais, in its less obvious and 
dangerous features, 

“JT answer for all the evil consequences that 
may arise from this evening’s proceedings, dear 
marquis,” said the beautiful Countess Julie de 
Polignac, in the proud security of the new and 
important position she had obtained near Queen 
Marie Antoinette during the preceding winter 

“JT am not uneasy about the consequences,” 
said the Marquis de Vaudreuil, with one of his 
most elegant and respectful bows. “But my 
conscience is beginning to trouble me, and I think 
the poet might at least have erased some of the 
objectionable passages, which the king noticed 
with such decided displeasure.” __ 

““M. de Beaumarchais is obstinate; he would 
not do it,” replied the Countess Julie, smiling so 
that all her white and beautiful teeth were visi- 
ble. 
here, and such skilled and estimable courtiers as 


“But when the piece has once been played 


you, M. de Vaudreuil, and our charming colonel of 
the Swiss Guards, M. de Besenval, give evidence 
of its present freedom from dangerous sentiments, 
the king will be pleased to take back his former 
harsh verdict. He will certainly permit it to be 
performed, and then the general dissatisfaction 
among the public will be removed. We shall all 
have aided in recognizing genius, and you, mar- 
quis, will again have the triumph that at your 
mansion one of the masterpieces of the nation 
M. de Vaudreuil kissed her 
hand with al] the exquisite politeness of French 


received its life.” 


court society. 

“Under the leadership of the Countess Julie, 
we may cheerfully enter the combat,” said the 
Baron de Besenval, with formal gallantry. The 
colonel of the Swiss Guards was a man with snow- 


THE TWO INTRIGUES. 


white hair, This venerable claim of respect and 
confidence, as well as the peculiar loyalty and 
simplicity shown in all his actions, gained him the 
high privilege of being intrusted with the secrets 
of the ladies. The role of confidant, however, did 
not prevent him from engaging in gallant adven- 
tures ; for, notwithstanding the snow upon his 
locks, he was still capable of attachments ; and 
his ardent inclinations toward the Countess Julie 
demonstrated his susceptible character. 

“Tt is true we are assembled as conspirators,” 
said Julie de Polignac, with that charmingly nat- 
ural cheerfulness that added something so irre- 
sistible to her other attractions. “But having 
the brave and excellent colonel of the Swiss 


Guards under our banners, we may easily recon- | 


cile ourselves with the morality of our undertak- 
Did he not lately sing for us the ‘Ranz des, 
Vaches’ of his native country, while the tears ac- 
tually stood in his eyes? And when he tells us 
of the mountains of his native land, does not his 


ing. 


noble heart reveal itself, and appear to us like an 
Alpine farm, where butter, cheese, honor, and 
gallantry, present themselves to the mind in an 
extraordinary and charming mélange? When 
such a man conspires with us for the ‘ Wedding 
of Figaro,’ we may certainly consider ourselves 
safe.” 

~ Those present burst into loud laughter on hear- 
ing these words, in which the Baron de Besenval, 
as usual, perceived no humor or irony, considering 
them rather as an expression of sentiment, indi- 
He 
stood opposite the lady with delighted counte- 
nance, looking at ber and sighing, thus heighten- 


cating a favorable reception of his homage. 


ing the merriment. . 

The Countess Julie de Polignac was not a 
beauty of the first rank, but she made that im- 
pression by the charm of her natural gracefulness, 
and an appearance that was brilliant in its re- 
remarkable simplicity. By such attraction she 
had gained entire possession of the queen’s heart, 
when during the winter she first arrived at Ver- 
‘sailles, drawn there by the splendor of the balls 
and other court entertainments. When Marie 
Antoinette asked her in surprise why she had not 





51 


sooner come to Versailles, she answered smilingly 
and ingenuously, that she was poor, and feared 
the expenses of such festivals. The queen felt 
real friendship for the countess, and was so much 
attached to her that she became indispensable to 
her majesty, who chose Julie de Polignac as her 
daily companion. But this did not change the 
countess in any way; she was as natural as for- 
merly, wearing no jewelry, and only appearing 
with the sweetness of her fresh and cheerful man- 
ners. 

At this moment Mirabeau and Chamfort en- 
tered the saloon.* They remained at the entrance, 
io criticise the general outline of the company 
assembled. 

“We have come very early,” observed Mira 
beau, sending his restless glances in all directions. 
“Only the court puppets, who have a special de- 
Iam in such a fever 
I wish 


this wretched comedy would begin, that we may 


sign to execute, are here. 
of impatience, that all my limbs tremble. 


proceed with our intrigue, and that I may be sure 
of Henriette’s escape.” 

“We shall first have to witness a few acts of 
Beaumarchais’s ‘ Figaro,’” replied Chamfort, in 
his sarcastic ease of manner. “ But I pray you 
to look around a little, or, pardon my metaphor, 
turn over with your sharp eyes the leaves of the 
book of faces here opened before you. The peo- 
ple there are very happy, and laugh as if the 
world belonged to them forever. Ha! what a 
swarm of bees those courtiers are! They hum 
for nothing but honey. It is really a pleasure to 
see the assembly enjoying themselves, though all 
things are tending to their ruin. As to this com- 
edy, of which they are speaking, it may be good 
or bad, but it expresses the very wickedness of 
those persons as ina mirror. Notice the Count- 
ess Julie de Polignac, and admire the deceitful 
show of innocence and naturalness she assumes in 
her new style of artful coquetry ! ” 

“The lady is not so much to be despised,” said 
Mirabeau, slightly glancing at her. “A more 
sentimental heart speaks out of her beautiful 
brown eyes than her husband, the chief equerry 
of his majesty, is able fully to understand, har- 


52 


monize with, or indeed appreciate. Yet her 
whole manner expresses the shallowness charac- 
terizing the queen’s intimate circle, to whom this 
Mind is ban- 
ished entirely from that society, and they occupy 


dear Countess Julie has given tone. 


themselves daily with the latest bon-mots—the 
little slanderous anecdotes of the court and city 
—the newest songs, whose refrains they use in a 
Such is the fa- 
vorite company of Marie Antoinette, from whom, 


wanton and equivocal manner. 


as I hear, the intellectual Princess de Lamballe 
strives to keep aloof, to the great chagrin of the 
queen, who would gladly see her on a friendly 
footing with the countess.” 

“ What have you to do with the minds of wo- 
men?” exclaimed Chamfort, bantering him. 
“ How often have we disputed this point, and you 
never would acknowledge that in them intellect 
could be a charm at all! And now, very sudden- 
ly, all the physical beauty in royal society does 
not satisfy you, and you ask for mental attrac- 
tions in those surrounding the naive Austrian, 
sharing the throne of France. Is there any thing 
more beautiful than that Countess Julie de Poli- 
gnac in her super-refined simplicity, which is, by 
the way, the indwelling demon of coquetry.” 

* You approach the very reason why I require 
“ Can 


aman with an imagination endure to see a wo- 


intellect of her,” said Mirabeau, laughing. 


man before him in such a dress as suits this 
countess? Behold her, in contrast with the 
ladies around in the costliest and most artistic 
toilets. 


and airy, it is true, but thrown over her fair form 


Hers is nothing but a négligée—tasteful 


as if accidentally, and not even apparently fas- 
tened with any care. Can you wonder that that 
loose toilet should attract attention? A woman 
who has courage to appear in such a costume 
presumes much and hazards much. She does 
not even wear diamonds to divert attention from 
her physical perfections. Ifshe were at least as 
learned and intellectual as the French Academy, 
of which you have the honor to be a member, my 
good Chamfort, a man like myself, while convers- 
ing with her, might think of other affairs than her 


dress.” 


aod 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


Chamfort laughed, and Mirabeau accompanied 
him. They were in a better humor as they passed 
from one room to another, contemplating and 
criticising the company assembled in them. 

“Why, there is Diderot!” cried Chamfort, 
pointing toa group of persons, in the midst of 
whom stood a tall man, with attractive features. 
“T did not believe the marquis when he told me 
that Diderot would be here this evening, for we 
are aware how he suffers; but M. de Vaudreuil 
knew how to rouse our dear encyclopedist. 
What a talent he has to bring people together in 
his drawing-rooms! And there is the charming 
old Baron d’Holbach, on whose friendly arm 
Diderot is leaning.” As they approached, Diderot, 
as soon as he noticed the presence of his two 
friends, turned quickly to greet them, pushing his 
way through the people surrounding him. He 
gave his hand with especial predilection to Cham- 
fort. . 

“You see me again risen from the dead, but 
only to make the acquaintance of the ‘Wedding 
of Figaro,’” he said, in that clear and full vcice 
that had lost little by age or sickness. Diderot 
He would still 
have been considered handsome, but for the 


was in his seventy-first year. 


many bodily sufferings he had lately undergone, 
and that left little hope of his remaining much 
longer among his earthly friends. His powerful 
frame was bowed, and gave signs of infirmity, 
But in his fine large eyes the fire of intellect 
burned undimmed. His lips were still eloquent, 
even in ordinary conversation, and few could 
equal him in the fluency and force of his words. 

“T see a vacant corner which we can occupy for 
a short time,” said Diderot, walking with Hol- 
bach to a sofa in a remote part of the saloon. 
Mirabeau and Chamfort followed, on receiving an 
invitation from him in a glance of his kindly 
eyes. 

“Tt is sad,” said Mirabeau, in a low voice to 
Chamfort, “to observe the bodily decay of this 
hero, whom all the strength of his intellect can- 
not protect from this mournful tribute to Nature ! 
And 
this is Diderot! he whose extraordinary mind has 


See how slowly and tremblingly he moves! 


THE TWO INTRIGUES. 


taught the French that all in existence is nothing 
but matter, and that the idea of a Supreme Intel- 
ligence is only a priestly invention. At his side is 
the no less renowned Baron d’Holbach, who is 
still bearing himself erect ; he has been all his 
life a gourmand, and received the well-deserved 
nickname of ‘steward of the philosophic skep- 
tics.’ Those two old men, who together wrote 
the ‘Systéme de la Nature,’ were once strong and 
ambitious, but they now walk unsteadily, and 
But, 
by the by, what have we younger men done, 


their own systems are well-nigh worn out. 


Chamfort, to demonstrate that we are worthy of 
succeeding them, at least in their opposition to 
despotism ? ” = 

“We shall, no doubt, gradually follow those 

Titans,” said Chamfort, merrily. ‘The time of 
our friend Diderot has passed, but he has prob- 
ably enjoyed his life. If he had not been guilty 
of the folly of treating the Empress Catharine of 
Russia as a woman whose cheeks you may pinch 
while talking to her, or to whom you may whis- 
per an equivocal couplet,* he would have had a 
most brilliant position in St. Petersburg. That 
folly of his delighted me exceedingly. Although 
je had to leave the czarina in disgrace, it was a 
most effective jest which the philosopher indulged 
in with the empress. It would make a sort of 
title-page to the era of liberty and equality for 
which we are all longing.” 

Diderot and Holbach seated themselves on the 
sofa, while Mirabeau and Chamfort occupied two 
easy-chairs standing near it. 

“Oh, you are Count Mirabeau that I see here, 
and only this moment recognize; like myself, you 
were imprisoned in the castle of Vincennes, and 
there meditated on the future of France!” said 
Diderot, in his pathetic and patronizing man- 
Mirabeau bowed, and pressed the hand 
offered him with respectful fervor. 


ner. 
“Tt was a 
momentous event for me,” continued Diderot, 
“when I was suddenly dragged to Vincennes, 
The cause of this was the search made for my 
latest writings, that I had only partly finished. 


53 


I was seized, together with several proof-sheets 
of our encyclopedia that happened to be lying on 
my table. The police wished particularly to 
possess themselves of a little tale written by me, 
entitled ‘The White Dove,’ and which I had often 
read to my friends. It is true, this poetic trifle 
contained some irony that could easily be ex- 
plained as having reference to King Louis XV., 
Madame de Pompadour, and the state ministers. 
However, the manuscript could not be found at 
my house, and I declared that I had no recollec- 
tion of this improvisation. Notwithstanding 
this, I remained four months in Vincennes, and 
there I wrote some meditations with a pen made 
of an old toothpick, and ink manufactured of a 
piece of slate dissolved in wine. For paper I 
used the margin of a copy of Milton’s ‘ Paradise 
Lost,’ that I happened to have in my pocket. I 
united my criticisms on this great work with re- 
flections on myself, liberty, and my native land. 
But what are those literary arabesques to the 
great works that my congenial successor wrote 
in that same dungeon! The book you composed 
there, Count Mirabeau, concerning lettres de cache 
and state-prisons, is a masterpiece of its kind, 
and which I have studied with the utmost inter- 
est. It pleased me especially that you treated 
this whole affair not only from a political but a 
social point of view. Believe me—an old sorcer- 
er, who will soon have uttered his last word— 
politics will soon be an indifferent, or, at most, a 
secondary thing in the new ideas forcing them- 
selves upon the minds of men. The principal 
question will concern our social relations; that 
highest good which nations dream of and strive to 
obtain will always remain doubtful, and, in a mere 
political realization, delusive. The right, in any. 
sense, of royalty will be severely tested, but per- 
haps will not be decided until the more important 
one of the community of property, is settled.* 
Think, hereafter, of Diderot, who, at the sunset 
of his life, saw far and clear into futurity. The 
words of Jean Jacques Rousseau: ‘ The fruits of 


the earth belong to all, but the earth to none,’ 


a 





_ * “Mémoires de l'Abbé Georgel,” vol. ii., p. 240. 





= 


* “Mémoires de Conforcet,”’ vol. ii., p. 12. 


54 


will decide the national battles of the times. On 
that account I am interested in all I have heard 
In 
order to show the rottenness of the state, he 


of this new work of M. de Beaumarchais. 


begins in his comedy to attack society, showing 
its universal falsehood and corruption. I am 
curious to see how the former harp-and-guitar 
teacher of the royal daughters of his majesty 
Louis XV. executes this sublimely moral task. 
I will listen with the ears of both the past and 
the future. 


me of the foretelling members of a rheumatic or 


Such men as Beaumarchais remind 


wounded body, always aching when the weather 
It is 
a peculiarity of my nature that I have ever felt 


changes, or the sky is laden with storms. 


in better health and spirits when, during the 
night, I hear the wind howling and the rain 
beating against my windows—when the tempest 
sweeps by, overturning the trees in my garden, 
I lie 
on my couch at such times with the greatest satis- 


and shaking the foundations of my abode. 


faction, thinking: ‘Only wait! storms will soon 
come such as no generation has ever witnessed ; 
but Diderot will not rejoice in them, he will re- 
pose in death—in that sleep which will outlast 
the world’s existence—which will still be unbro- 
ken when the firmament is no more!’” 

There 
was a remarkable restlessness with much uneasi- 


A man of medium height appeared. 
ness in his aspect. He approached the group 
hastily, interrupting the strain of Diderot by pre- 
senting himself and pronouncing a few compli- 
mentary words. He was the author of the come- 
dy, Baron de Beaumarchais, a man of about fifty 
years. In his sparkling eyes was an expression 
of great prudence and penetrating judgment, 
while his whole physiognomy was characterized 
by such shrewdness as at first sight is not apt to 
inspire a profound confidence. He was just en- 
tering the drawing-room, and seemed to have 
been behind the scenes, to oversee the necessary 
preparations for the performance, the commence- 


ment of which he came to announce. 


“Tt is really fortunate that Beaumarchais has 
arrived,” said Chamfort to Mirabeau, “for with- 
out his interruption Diderot would not have 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


ceased to talk. I have never succeeded, even by 
the most adroit remark, in interrupting the flu- 
ency of Diderot’s ‘ golden tongue,’ as it has been 
called. I remember how this faculty of his caused 
the despair of the Abbé Raynal at a gathering at 
The abbé had a de- 
sire to talk incessantly, and, when his patience 


Madame Geoffrin’s house. 


was overborne by the unending stream of Dide- 
rot’s eloquence, he drew me aside, saying, with 
artful melancholy: ‘If he would only take a pinch 
of snuff, cough, or use his pocket-handkerchief, 
he is lost; for then I can at once seize the op- 
portunity to speak.’ ” 

“ Beaumarchais then provides just such an op- 
portunity by which Diderot has been compelled 
to stop,” said Mirabeau, regarding the author of 
the “ Wedding of Figaro” with evident displeas- 
ure. ‘ His impression upon me is always that of 
an insignificant person.” 

All were repairing to the magnificent theatre- 
saloon of M. de Vaudreuil. The numerous spec- 
taturs were soon seated, impatient for the raising 
of the curtain. The representation was under- 
taken by the actors of the ThéAtre Francais, the 
same who had been engaged when the king pre- 
viously interdicted the play. 

The comedy began with the half-comic, half- 
uneasy conversation between Figaro and Susanna, 
who, in view of their approaching marriage, were 
disquieted by the thought that Count Almaviva 
intended to assert certain well-understood claims 
in the case of Susanna’s wedding—an old feudal 
right possessed by the lord of the soil over his 
vassals. Hardly is it seen, in the comedy, on 
what hollow ground all the characters are stand- 
ing, and that Count Almaviva’s castle is nothing 
but a symbol of the degeneracy of society, when 
the page Cherubin appears to complain to Susanna 
of his misfortunes; for the count resolves to 
drive him from the castle, being jealous of a boy 
M. 


Cherubin visits the women of the count’s house- 


who seems to be a favorite of the countess. 


hold, and is surprised in the company of the 
gardener’s daughter. The page is about to make 
love to Susanna, when Count Almaviva is heard 


at the door. Cherubin is hastily concealed be- 


THE TWO INTRIGUES. 


hind the easy-chair, and the count begins a tender 
conversation with Susanna respecting the feudal 
right, when Bazile’s voice is heard outside of the 
house. The count seeks the same hiding-place in 
which his page is concealed, who creeps into the 
easy-chair itself without being seen, where he is 
In the 


following scene the count hears of the audacities 


covered with some of Susanna’s dresses. 


Cherubin has been guilty of in his household, and 
suddenly jumps up, unable to restrain his anger ; 
he soon discovers the page, and drags him out in 
no very gentle manner. 

The audience burst into loud applause at the 
situation of Cherubin, interpreting as it did so 
many facts, introducing the conduct of well- 
known parties. Much amusement was caused by 
the procession of festively-attired servants, peas- 
ants and their wives, at whose head appears 
Figaro, to request the count, in a petition signed 
by all, generously to renounce his inherited 
ancient right. The countess herself joins in this 
entreaty, and thus adds interest to the scene. 
The curtain fell before a half-astonished, half-ex- 
cited audience, who were left in a frame of mind 
never before experienced at any theatrical rep- 
resentation. 

“Ts not that quite an execrable family whose 
acquaintance we have made through the poet? ” 
said Chamfort to Mirabeau, in a low voice, be- 
tween the acts. ‘In their crimes they cling to- 
gether like burrs. Each desires to profit by and 
abuse the other, and the end of all is only to 
find out who is the most guilty and deserves the 
This is the moral of the 


present state of society. In fact, all are to blame 


greatest punishment. 


that social affairs have come to such a pass. 
Yes, Mirabeau, this comedy raises the questions : 
Who will be condemned? Who will be absolved ? 
Who will escape ?” 

‘* Well, I think that Figaro, the man of the peo- 
ple,is not only the wisest, but also the purest of 
them all!” replied Mirabeau, thoughtfully. “I 
wager a thousand to one that, if he remains as 
courageous and enterprising, he will bring his 
bride home as a well-earned and innocent posses- 
sion—an exception to the demands of an oppres- 





55 


sive and hateful feudalism. Figaro is an honest 
Mellow, and it is generally the position of the peo- 
ple to be for evermore in antagonism to those in 
power, who use as their property what bas never 
been adjudged to them by any law of nature or 
morality.” 

In other parts of the hall various remarks were 
made. “ The author has represented the countess 
in the play very judiciously,” said Diana de Poli- 
gnac (who made pretensions to be a judge of the 
beautiful), to her neighbor, Colonel de Besenval. 
“She has a truly aristocratic appearance in this 
dark, groundwork of society, and is evidently the 
Although 
she is hurt and deceived by her husband, who is 


only pure character of the company. 


faithless and dissipated as all cavaliers, she re- 
mains reticent and noble, only endeavoring to 
renew their union of love. Surely, her innocent 
amusement with the boy Cherubin cannot be con- 
sidered wicked. Oh, when the heart is heavy 
and sad, you sometimes rejoice in the sudden ap- 
parition of a frolicsome creature near you, and 
you hastily stretch out your hand after him. But, 
after all, nothing is purer than the movements of| 
an unhappy woman’s heart!” 

‘‘T do not see how any one can be interested in 
“She is 
of noble descent, but you can easily perceive that 
she was the ward of Dr. Bartholo of Seville, and 
It was a 


this countess,” said Julie de Polignac. 


received her education in his house. 
great honor for her that Count Almaviva carried 
her off from such plebeian surroundings, and it 
has always given me the greatest satisfaction to 
see the ‘Barber of Seville’ of M. de Beaumar- 
chais acted at the Théatre Francais. But this 
dear countess ought to appear more grateful. If 
a real nobleman like Count Almaviva has a few 
weaknesses she ought not to play the simpleton, 
uniting with common people against her hus- 
band,” 
these frank remarks were made, kissed her hand 


The Marquis de Vaudreuil, to whom 


delightedly, and pointed with an impatient ges- 
ture to the rising curtain, announcing the second 
part of the performance. 

This act begins with the confidential conversa- 
tion of the countess with her chief maid Susanna, 


56 


from which her friends in the parterre discovered 
with some perplexity that her dallying with the 
handsome page had much to do with her heart, 
taking as her excuse the many infidelities of her 
Fi- 


garo and Susanna, from mere love of intrigue 


husband, and at which she eagerly caught. 


against the count, assist their mistress, and dur- 
ing the absence of her husband, bring to her the 
The 
young and pretty actress, who played the role of 


page, who was still concealed in the castle. 


Cherubin, sang the couplets of the romance with 
such seductive coquetry that the heart of the 
countess is finally captured. Then begings»the 
scene where the countess and her maid, in play; 
ful pastime, attire the youth in a maid’s fess. 
Susanna compares his white arms with hér own; 
and her mistress, with a tincture of jealousy, re- 


proves her for it. In this doubtful occupation | 


they are disturbed by the unexpected return’ of 
the count. The page is hustled, just as he is, 
into the cabinet of the countess, and, after knock- 
ing a long time, her husband, suspecting what 
has been going on, is admitted. The turn things 
now take has a most curious and uncomfortable 
effect. The countess, in her confusion, begins to 
make confessions. She then pretends that Su- 
sanna is in the eabinet, and, when the count 
threatens to break open the door, she acknowl- 
edges and tries to excuse the presence of the 
page in the most natural manner she can think 
of. When the door at length is opened, Susanna 
is discovered. Her mistress comprehends at once 
the artful work in which the maid has been en- 
gaged. She had taken an opportunity to glide 
into the cabinet, while Cherubin descended by 
the window. The count fancies that his wife has 
been amusing herself at his expense, thinking 
that she merely told him the story about the page 
to rouse his jealousy. The countess soon recon- 
ciles herself to the role her husband tenders her. 
She begins to love intrigue for its own sake, and 
at the end of the act she is engaged in making 
preparations to disguise herself as Susanna and 
meet her husband at a rendezvous he had ar- 
ranged with the maid in the garden. 

“T think your beautiful Countess Rosina de- 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


generates considerably,” said the Baron de Be- 
senval, when the act was over, turning to his 
“She places her 
white hands into the midst of this dark intrigue, 
If this 
continues longer, I shall have to throw the first 


neighbor, Diana de Polignac. 
and soon will be the most defiled of all. 


stone at her; I cannot help myself.” 

“Then you would be doing her a great wrong, 
both as an honest Swiss and as a French cava- 
lier,” replied Diana, warmly. ‘ You must own 
that the Countess Rosina only agrees to this in- 
trigue to win back her beloved husband. She is 
certainly using questionable means, but has a 
good purpose in view ; and I think, in a case of 
this kind, every woman should be a Jesuit, for 
the question is the possession of what is most im- 
portant to her—her heart.” 

“T must compliment your penetration,” re- 
marked the Marquis de Vaudreuil to Julie de Po- 
lignac, who sat beside him.. “You foresaw that 
the education the Countess Rosina had received 
in the house of a doctor of Seville would declare 
itself.” 

“Do you see,” replied Julie, coquettishly, tap- 
ping her hand with her fan, “this person does 
not shudder to dress herself in the clothes of her 
maid, in order to confound her husband, a Span- 
ish grandee, a man who has just been appointed 
ambassador to London? How can one of honor- 
able birth endure to wear the dress of a domestic? 
I have my doubts as to the noble descent of this 
Rosina, although the author has labored to make 
us believe it in the ‘ Barber of Seville” ” 

“Well, how do you fare, friend Mirabeau?” 
said Chamfort to his neighbor, who was dreamily 
looking about him. “Is there not something in 
this comedy that is very attractive and curious, 
influencing the audience to thoughtfulness? I 
shall soon make up my mind as to who is the 
cause of all our present social infirmity. In my 
estimation, all the sinners in the comedy are in- 
If Count Al- 


maviva were a better man, not given up to his 


volved in the sin of their master. 


passionate will, and wholly egotistic, heartless, 
and dishonorable, those surrounding him would 
be decent, well-meaning people, free from in- 


THE TWO INTRIGUES. 57 


trigue and sin. I think, Mirabeau, we must 
make the master answerable for the wickedness 
and misfortunes of his servants, and that is a 
very practical lesson, evidently taught by the 
play.” 

“You are a poet,” replied Mirabeau, “ and nat- 
urally more apt than I am to interpret the mean- 
ing of this shallow piece. I am really only 
thinking of Henriette: the dear girl must be very 
anxious at home, and my heart beats violently in 
Do 


not forget to leave in season. Our arrangements 


anticipation of the unravelling of the plot. 


are, that, immediately after the third act, you are 
- to depart. As soon as you reappear in the hall, 
I take it for granted that all is right, and that the 
carriage with Henriette and the child is safely 
concealed in the court-yard of the palace. Then I 
take leave of you for some time, Chamfort!” 

Chamfort replied with a nod and a glance, show- 
ing that he remembered and would be faithful to 
his agreement with Mirabeau. 

The curtain rose for the third act, which called 
forth repeated applause. Especially those humor- 
ous passages directed against the aristocracy, were 
enthusiastically commended by spectators who 
were of the highest rank. Either they supported 
the author as patronizing a certain tone recently 
pervading French court society, or they thought 
‘it better only to see the witty side of weighty 
truths, and to be greatly amused. Thus the diplo- 
matists and statesmen present extolled particu- 
larly the ideas of Figaro, in which he declares, 
with his natural good sense, what his opinion of 
social and state policy is, denouncing the times 
as characterized not only by levity, but positive 
vileness ; and where Count Almaviva interrupts 
him by the weak criticism, ‘That is not policy 
but intrigue!” this ingenuous expression of a 
partisan and a defender of all that is pernicious, 
occasioned great merriment. The company were 
thrown into a frame of mind of which perhaps 
they had thought themselves incapable. The 
swift action of the comedy, hardly giving them 
time to breathe, led them to take sides, especially 
when they witnessed the scene in which Count 
Almaviva holds a court of justice in the midst of 





his vassals, to decide the cause of Marcellina, 
who makes pretensions to the hand of Figaro. 
The boundless folly and wickedness of the old 
system of administering justice are here derided 
in the severest style. Then suddenly the situation 
takes the very frivolous turn that Figaro is recog- 
nized, by a mark on his arm, as the illegitimate 
son of this Marcellina, who desires to espouse 
him. She then asserts herself as the advocate of 
the social oppression of women, and undertakes 
the chorus. On the wings of wit the comedy 
rises to the heights of philosophy. . 
As the curtain fell, Chamfort left the saloon. 
Mirabeau became very restless; the impatience 
with which he looked forward to the return of 
his friend increased every moment, and he was 
The Mar- 
quis de Vaudreuil and the Countesses de Poli- 


agitated by the most painful thoughts. 


gnac endeavored to draw him into conversation, 
but their efforts failed from the unyielding man- 


| ner in which he bore himself toward them, an- 


swering only in monosyllables, and hazarding his 
reputation as a talented and brilliant speaker, be- 
ginning to be known at court 
The fourth act commenced. Mirabeau was 
scarcely in a condition to follow attentively the 
progress of events. His head involuntarily turned 
again and again to the door by which he expect- 
But 
his return was retarded, and Mirabeau gave him- 


ed to see Chamfort enter at every moment. 


self up to tormenting fancies, supposing that, 
notwithstanding all their arrangements, Henriette 
had been recognized and seized by the police. 
While anger and sorrow occupied his heart, he 
felt how dear his new love already was, and his 
yearning for her presence became irresistible. 
He was not in a state of mind to be interested in 
what was performing on the stage. 

The marriage ceremony of Figaro and Susanna 
takes place. The countess is dragged further into 
difficulties by the fault of others as well as by 
accident and passion, and is on the way to be- 
come herself one of the guilty. Among the 
maidens forming the procession she discovers a 
young shepherdess, who pleases her particularly, 


and she cannot refrain from kissing her. It is 


58 


hardly possible not to believe that the countess 
Imew that it was Cherubin thus disguised, and 
whom the count discovers and very roughly drags 
out from under his mask. In the midst of the 
wedding festival the count makes his final ar- 
rangements for his meeting with Susanna at night, 
for whom his wife intends to substitute herself, 
in the most cunning manner. The conspiracy 
against Almaviva becomes more complicated. 
The tyrannical lord of all is in danger of being 
the deceived of all. 

During this time Chamfort did not make his 
appearance, and Mirabeau’s anxiety reached its 
His 
impatience was so great that he could not remain 


highest degree at the end of the fourth act. 


in his seat; he rose and went to the antechamber, 
through which his friend would have to come. 

The fifth act began, and Mirabeau stood at the 
door of the saloon, undecided whether to remain 
or return to his dwelling to gain information of 
what had happened. On the stage they were just 
acting the scene of the nightly rendezvous, in 
which all his misfortunes visit the count; and the 
universal judgment begins, punishing the guilty 
through their own acts, permitting each to receive 
nothing but what belongs to him according to the 
order of justice. Figaro is gliding around in the 
dark, closely enveloped in his cloak, as if in philo- 
sophic melancholy, beginning that remarkable 
monologue in which he meditates on destiny, life, 
and society, applying his thought to the rank 
and exclusive position of the count, with a very 
solemn voice, but with very clear reasoning. 
With satanic art he delivers the passage: “ No- 
bility, fortune, rank, honorable distinctions, all 
these make a man proud. And what have you 
done to possess them? You have only taken the 
trouble to be born—nothing more; otherwise you 
are precisely like other people.” * 

Some one touched Mirabeau gently from be- 
hind; turning, he perceived Chamfort, who nod- 
ded to him as if in confirmation, giving him to 
understand that all had been executed according 





* “‘T.e Mariage de Figaro,” Acte v., Sc. iii. ‘‘ Vous 
vous étes donné la peine de naitre, et rien de plus: du 
teste homme assez ordinaire.”’ 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


to their wishes. While the rest of the audience 
were perseveringly applauding Figaro’s mono- 
logue, Mirabeau seized the opportunity to depart. 
He followed his friend through the anteroom; 
and, not until they reached the staircase, did 
they dare to exchange a word. 

“We had a narrow escape from discovery,” 
said Chamfort. ‘ The police, guarding your house 
with the watchfulness of a Cerberus, had some 
suspicion of the pretty Provencal country-girl 


| with whom I was going to slip into the carriage. 


They demanded information respecting her and 
our destination. I pointed, as you told. me, to 
the equipage, bearing the name and crest of the 
Marquis de Vaudreuil, told them a long and cir- 
cumstantial history why your child and its nurse 
were to be brought to the marchioness; then I 
lifted your Henriette quickly into the carriage, 
begging them to make further inquiries at the 
Hotel Vaudreuil. 


frightened me; you know I almost cease to 


The police - officers nearly 


breathe when I come near them. Now, however, 
we are safe here, and Henriette longs ardently to 
see you.” 

Chamfort led his friend to the coach, con- 
cealed in the carriage-house, and Mirabeau en- 
tered quickly, laying his hand on Henriette’s 
lips, as she was about to utter an exclamation 
of joy. Little Coco was fast asleep on her lap. 
Chamfort stood a few moments longer at the 
door, heartily wishing them a happy voyage. 
Then he carefully drew their attention to the 
English passport, which he handed to Mirabeau. 
He recommended Henriette to change her cos- 
tume as soon as possible; every thing necessary 
would be found in the carriage, and she would 
She 
pressed his hand affectionately in her hearty aud 


now have to pass for an English nurse. 


frank manner. 

“ And now farewell, my friend Chamfort,” said 
Mirabeau, embracing him. “Give my compli- 
ments to all those Almavivas in the theatre, 
whom I am compelled to leave for a while. I 
fear a frivolous comedy will scarcely amend them ; 
I will 


write to you how affairs are going on in England, 


we will soon have a graver play in France. 


A WALK THROUGH LONDON. 


I shall naturally study English liberty. Farewell! 
I love and honor you, Chamfort! Loveme also!” 

The carriage rolled away, in ashort time reach- 
ing its destination. At the foot of the Mont- 
martre, at the appointed place, was the travelling- 
coach, for which they exchanged the equipage of 
the marquis. The secretary, Hardy, and the valet 
de chambre, were waiting to receive them. Miss 
Sarah, who of course could not be dispensed 
with, was among the compagnons de voyage await- 
ing Mirabeau. She showed her delight at seeing 
her master by capering about and barking. The 
party immediately put themselves in order of 

Mirabeau lifted Henriette into the car- 
She had much trouble in quieting little 


motion. 
riage. 
Coco, who had been awakened by the dog. The 
secretary took his seat by the coachman, and the 
valet behind. Thus the well-laden vehicle rattled 
merrily along the moonlit road to Brussels. 


OHAPTER . VIII. 
A WALK THROUGH LONDON. 


Mrrapeavu and Henriette had been in London 
for several days, dwelling, as was his custom, in a 
large and expensive house, in one of the most 
fashionable streets in the West End. The funds 
obtained through the legacy left to Henriette 
were already considerably reduced. It was a 
beautiful summer’s day, when Mirabeau, who had 
been attending to some out-door business, re- 
turned early to persuade his charming friend to 
accompany him in a walk, for since her arrival in 
London she had not left the room. He hoped 
that the sunny day and the inspiring air would 
be the best remedy for the reéstablishment of her 
health, which the voyage had greatly weakened. 
Henriette gladly assented. Her pale cheeks, 
bearing traces of real illness, were for a moment 
faintly tinted with something like that color 
formerly glowing on them. She arose quickly, 
laying aside her work, to hasten in making her 
toilet for the promenade; but, with a melancholy 





59 


smile, she felt that she could not move with so 
much alacrity as formerly. Her feebleness was 
the result of the hardships of the voyage, for 
twice they were seriously endangered while mak- 
ing the transit from France to England: once a 
violent storm overtook the vessel on the open 
sea, So that it was nearly lost; and again, it was 
Added 


to these perils, she was attacked by continual 


almost wrecked in sight of the harbor. 


sea-sickness, and on her arrival in London was in 
such bad health that Mirabeau was obliged to 
send immediately for a physician. 

“Poor child,” said Mirabeau, contemplating 
her weakness, “it is evident that you have been 
travelling with me; for I have never yet been 
If I 
travel on land, the wheels of my vehicle break ; 


abroad but some misfortune threatened me. 


on the sea, it only requires my presence, like 
another Jonah, to marshal all the storms of 
beaven against the craft that carries me. Every 
trifle is a matter of life and death with me; and 
I have associated you in the destiny of sucha 
man, my lovely, innocent Henriette! I am afraid 
that the terrors of this voyage have seriously in- 
jured you.” 

“ But I have determined to be perfectly well,” 
said Henriette, “for my present condition really 
irritates me, and has become quite unbearable to 
us all. Besides, the physicians in London make 
too extravagant charges for me to indulge in the 
luxury of illness. A guinea for each visit is al- 
together too much, and would soon ruin us.” 

“Ah, I recognize now my charming miser,” ex- 
claimed Mirabeau, laughing. 

“T do not care for the miserable money itself,” 
replied Henriette, gravely looking at him with 
her frank, confiding eyes. “But it grieves me 
when you are uneasy about money; and I wish 
But it has not 


that appearance, and I have a terrible fear that 


our stock would last forever. 


some day you will sadly say to me, ‘ Henriette, 
what has become of the money?’ ” 

“You may be perfectly indifferent on that 
point, for I am about to gain considerable funds, 
my dear Countess *Yet-Lee!’” said Mirabeau 
(calling her by her pet-name—thus pronouncing 


60 


the final syllables of Henriette Amélie, and pre- 
_ fixing the title of countess, by which she was 
known to the servants). ‘I must. live respecta- 
bly,” added Mirabeau, after a pause, during which 
Madame de Nehra endeavored to hasten her 
toilet. 


appearing—but how it is I cannot explain; the 


“Tt is true, our money is gradually dis- 


ebbing of the ocean is not so difficult to under- 
But 
never mind, Yet-Lee, I have taken some precau- 


stand as the law that governs our purse. 


tion. I have great literary enterprises in my 
This whole 


morning I have been running about in London, 


mind, that cannot be unsuccessful. 


summoning the army of publishers to my stand- 
ard, Our affairs will mend, Countess Yet-Lee, 
rely on it. My manuscript against the order 
of Cincinnatus I have already disposed of; it will 
appear in a few months; it will be the first work 
in which I shall come before the public in open 
visor, and with my full name. The time is near 
when it will be necessary to take an unquestioned 
stand—man against man, tooth against tooth! 
The publisher gives me only ten guineas for my 
book, but, with the sale of every hundred copies, 
The 


production must find a ready market; it cannot 


I am to receive additional compensation. 


fail. Then, I have promised another bookseller to 
write something about the free navigation of the 
Scheldt, about which the Dutch are disputing 
with the Austrian Emperor Joseph, and which 
may easily be the occasion of a European war. I 
must, of course, write in favor of the Hollanders, 
who levy an impost at the mouth of that river 
according to a treaty a century old; and thus cut 
off the possessions of Austria from free communi- 
But what do I care for 
Austria, the native country of Queen Marie An- 


eation with the ocean. 


toinette, to whom we patriots and agitators of 
France dare not make the least concession? I 
shall only receive a few louis d’ors in return, but I 
shall gain many friends both in London and 
And, besides, Yet-Lee, my mind is full of 
literary projects that must bear golden fruit. It 


Paris. 


is all the same to me with what I may be en- 
gaged; but I mean to work, though employed on 
a geography or aChinese grammar, My secretary 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


Hardy sits in his cabinet all day, making extracts 
from books and newspapers, which I intend to 
use for a particular purpose. You see we cannot 
be in want, and the publishers will soon come to 
me instead of my running after them.” 

Henriette in the mean time finished her toilet, 
and was standing before her sanguine friend, as- 
He looked criti- 


cally at her dress, and passed judgment on her 


senting gladly to his last words. 


general appearance. ‘ Come,” said he, kissing 
her hands. Beneath his kindly eye her beanty 
grew fresher, and the roses of her innocent youth 
seemed to be blooming again on her cheeks. 
She now took his arm, and soon regained her. 
strength. Their walk led them first through 
several of the principal promenades of London. 
Mirabeau expressed his astonishment in a most 
lively manner at the peculiarities of the different 
streets, while Henriette endeavored to compare 
London with Paris and Amsterdam. 

“T feel in an extraordinarily good humor,” said 
Mirabeau, “for wherever I turn my eye, I see 
purity and independence, worthy of man. Even in 
the street, I have the elevating consciousness that 
IT am in a country in which the people are consid- 
ered something, and that every one enjoys the 
free development and exercise of his talents. 
Look even at the pavement, on which we are 
walking thus leisurely and unimpeded; its fine 
structure and cleanliness convince us that here 
even pedestrians are held in some estimation, 
Let your eyes roam over this vast area, larger 
than that of any other city of the Old World. It is 
true, London is like every other place where men 
herd together for business or pleasure—it has 
its broad and narrow streets, and is neither more 
nor less like Paris or Pekin than human circum- 
stances make it. People huddle together in vast 
masses for numerous reasons, though they shorten 
their life by the impurity of the air they breathe 
and rebreathe, and where the unending combat 
goes on of the poor against the rich, the select 
mob against the common mob, the neglected and, 
dishonored against those by whom they are neg- 
lected and dishonored. But then this remark- 
able cleanliness of London has almost equal at- 


' A WALK THROUGH LONDON. 


tractions for the eye and the mind. It is a cer- 
tain sign that the people are in a healthy political 
as weil as physical condition ; that they are free, 
having the desire and the time to take care of them- 
selves as communities, and accurately to avail 
themselves of the privileges of their existence as 


social beings. This is truly a sovereign city, in 


which even the tiles on the houses seem to know 
‘that the dwellers rule by their own will. Most 
of the edifices are of brick, and very few built in 
noble style; but that is the glory of this city ; 
every thing has the appearance of nationality, 
comfort, domesticity, safety, and independence. 
The river seems to ask: ‘With what can you 
compare me, to which the ocean from all quarters 
of the globe daily brings tribute ?’” * 

“T shall svon be jealous of this London,” said 
Henriette, pressing her friend’s arm. “I cannot 
bear to hear you extol any thing, though it is but 
a mass of brick and mortar.” 

“Why, you were taken for an Englishwoman 
while in Paris,” replied Mirabeau, laughing ; “ and 
when we strolled along the Boulevards, I often 
heard voices whispering behind us, ‘ Ah, look at 
that fair Englishwoman!’ And you will soon 
see a change in me, if I continue to feel as well as 
I have hitherto done. Instead of Honoré Gabriel 
Riquetti Count de Mirabeau, I shall become a 
most portly ‘Jacques Rosbif!’ Then I shall be 
lost to France, and the question arises whether I 
can be of any use in this country, where all are 
so devoted to royalty.” 

“ You cannot show me any thing to equal the 
Parisian Boulevards in this city,” said Henriette, 
as they turned into the colonnade in Regent 
Street, and found themselves suddenly in the 
midst of the bustle of this thoroughfare. The 
crowds of pedestrians, and the numerous vehicles 
passing in different directions, never for a mo- 
ment became confused, but a remarkable order 
and propriety controlled all their movements. 

“Here you find more than Parisian Boule- 
vards,” replied Mirabeau, as he directed her at- 
tention to the life around them. His countenance 





* Mirabeau, ‘‘ Letters 4 Chamfort,”’ p. 52. 





61 


was cheerful, such as his companion had not seen 
for a long time. “Here you find a people—a 
nation—safely and industriously earning their 
livelihood, and moving onward like a stream that 
obeys only its own laws of motion. In Paris, my 
dear Countess Yet-Lee, there is no nation; and it 
is doubtful whether we can make one of the dull 
masses huddled together at the foot of an abso- 
lute throne—a people knowing their rights, and 
maintaining them by means of knowledge. Those 
you see on the. Boulevards display only the vari- 
egated skin of some mighty serpent, lying in am- 
bush, and whose victim is Paris. It is true all 
kinds of creatures roam about on the Parisian 
Boulevards; but they are not the nation; they 
are mercenary intriguers. We appear among 
them, discontented idlers of rank, speculating on 
the time when France will be a nation, and to 
whom my friend Chamfort has given the appella- 
tion of ‘ philosopbic noblemen of the epoch.’” 
“The people are looking at me jeeringly and 
maliciously,” observed Madame de Nehra, after a 
pause, clinging to Mirabeau’s arm with some fear. 
Several persons, among them a few intoxicated 
sailors, were just passing, and Henriette insisted 
that she noticed in their gestures that she was 
the object of their amusement, having taken 
“In 


London, it seems, I am not considered so good an 


offence in some way at her appearance. 


Englishwoman as in Paris,” said Henriette, di- 
recting the attention of her friend to what was 
occurring. “T fancy it is my foreign toilet that 
gives umbrage to the people; for I am attired | 
quite in Parisian style. I suppose it is especially 
my plumed hat that astonishes them.” 

“Do not let us be concerned about them, and 
quietly pass on,” said Mirabeau. “We can soon 
change your costume in the most becoming man- 
ner. In this respect, the inhabitants show a want 
of understanding. They laugh at every thing 
that may appear odd only to themselves, and 
think they have a right to do so, from the fact 
that they are isolated, and have not the largest 
ideas of the rest of mankind, and their predilec- 
tions and habits, Parisians show more cultiva- 


tion in never permitting their own weakness to 


62 


become apparent, for they do not presume to set 
themselves up as the supreme authority in any 
matter, or deride every one who does not bow to 
their standard.” 

So they continued their walk, and the count 
did not observe that several rude persons left the 
group that had amused themselves at Henriette’s 


appearance, and, following, made all manner of 


ludicrous motions and exclamations, directing the 
attention of the passers-by to the foreigners. 
Henriette was becoming more and more fright- 
ened, and begged earnestly to enter a coach. 
Mirabeau now could not help remarking the 
crowd behind them; but considered it cowardice 
if he suddenly essayed to escape. At this mo- 
ment they met a lady and gentleman, whom they 
recognized as travelling-companions, having made 
the passage from France in the same ship. They 
were an Irishman, and a Parisienne who had ap- 
parently eloped with him. She had manifested 
so much kindliness and intellect during the voy- 
age, that Mirabeau had pleasure in her conversa- 
tion, and quite a friendship was the result. Greet- 
_ ings were exchanged, and while they stood in the 
street to make inquiries after each other’s well- 
being, the curious mob at the heels of Mirabeau 
and Henriette seemed to find additional food for 
ridicule. The Parisian lady wore also an im- 
mense plumed hat, that being the most recent 
fashion in France, and the rest of her toilet was 
even more remarkable than Henriette’s, at least 
to an English street public. 

The people assembled about the strangers be- 
gan to indicate their more offensive humor by 
loud laughter. A man of wild and ungovernable 
appearance, carrying a large trumpet in his hand, 
suddenly stepped out, placing himself close to 
the ladies, who regarded him with real terror. 
He made them a ridiculous bow, thus gaining the 
applause of his accomplices. He was apparently 
a well-known buffoon from one of the public- 
houses, of which there were many in the narrow 
streets, and was greeted as the ‘‘ Honorable Lord 
Trumpeter,” which seemed to be his nickname 
among his comrades. His reputation as a jester 
appeared to be quite considerable, for his com- 


¥ 


COUNT MIRABEAU. 


‘panions became still and attentive to see what he 
would do. He hegan to play the part he had 
devised by making the most frightful grimaces, 
displaying his characteristic and skilful ability. 
He intended to reproduce by his gestures the gro- 
tesque effect made on the spectators by the toilet 
of the ladies, and particularly by their head-dress- 
es, and executed his pantomime very well, dis- 
torting the muscles of his face sometimes to a 
funny, and again to a repulsive expression—in 
in this manner so accurately describing their cos- 
tume that they could not help recognizing the 
public opinion of them in the caricature, 

After having finished his polite performance, 
Lord, Trumpeter suddenly blew a blast on the in- 
strument he held in his hand, as if to advertise 
his profession. He repeated this several times, 
and the applause of the multitude rose to the 
Hen- 
riette acted wisely, at first laughing at the impu-— 


most frightful demonstrations of delight. 


dent capers of Lord Trumpeter, which reminded 
her of the days of her childhood, passed in Am- 
sterdam, where street-scenes of this kind are not 
unusual. The Parisienne, on the ‘contrary, be- 
came angry from the beginning of the affair, and 
now could no longer restrain her indignation. 
Like a true Frenchwoman, she began to abuse 
Lord Trumpeter, though her English was some- 
what imperfect, and would scarcely have been un- 
derstood by herself in her cooler moments. Car- 
ing little for the danger to which she was ex- 
posed, she did not hesitate, her large black eyes 
sparkling with resentment, to make use of the 
most violent and insulting expressions in refer- 
ence to British nationality. She nearly succeeded 
in involving her Irish friend in the same out- 
break, for, obeying her signals, he placed himself 
in position to fight the whole party of street 
blackguards. 

Count Mirabeau_ stood quietly looking around 
with his arms crossed, maintaining his intrepid 
indifference, and meditating an escape from this 
absurd predicament. The national humor of the 
Honorable Lord Trumpeter had not yet reached 
its climax. After blowing a satiric melody, he 





turned again to the ladies and began to sing a 


popular song for their especial,benefit. The lines 
were by no means poetic, but exceedingly vulgar, 
and, uttered with apparent simplicity, called forth 
increased applause from the mob, especially as 
the song was accompanied with fanciful gesticula- 
tions.* 


This scene, however, was beginning to be no- 


ticed by others than those immediately engaged | 


in it. Equipages and equestrians stopped to see 
what was occurring. Several gentlemen, appar- 
ently of rank, dismounted and entered the 
crowd, dealing out blows with their whips on the 
most tumultuous, who were evidently intoxicated. 
Mirabeau received advice as to the best manner 
of escape, but unfortunately he did not understand 
i the counsel given him, and was on the point of 
losing his patience, as he could no longer be a 
‘witness of the insolence the chief actor permitted 


himself toward Madame de Nehra. Mirabeau 


A WALK THROUGH LONDON. 


63 


posing demeanor corroborated. When he saw 
that his high-toned and slightly-religious speech 
was having some influence, he confirmed its suc- 
cess by flinging money among the rioters, thus 
turning their thoughts to a scramble among 
themselves. Lord Trumpeter himself, having es- 
caped from the lion-like grasp of Mirabeau, was 
not a little surprised to find several sixpences in 
his hand, where he had not seen so» many for a 
long time. The Swiss then gave him a thump 
on his back, ordering him in a commanding 
voice to go immediately to the nearest cab-stand 
and bring two carriages for the strangers of rank, 
against whom he had so grievously sinned. After 
the ringleader had disappeared, it was easier to 
disperse the rest by supplying them with money. 
The preacher then turned to Count Mirabeau, and, 
in the most obliging terms, requested him and his 


friends to enter a neighboring coffee-house to 


pried the man by the throat, shaking him with | await the arrival of the vehicles, and generously 


his powerful arms, so that the rascal uttered a | offered to be their guide. Mirabeau accepted his 


* loud ery and fell on his knees, as if unconscious. | friendly services with the most lively expressions 
This would doubtless have been succeeded by a | of gratitude. 


_ dangerous complication of affairs, if at the mo- 


ment a tall, slender man had not managed to 
_ make a way for himself through the crowd, just 
breaking out into violent tumult. The stranger 
wore a civilian’s dress of dark color, and Mira- 
beau, who had a keen eye for the discovery of 
character at first sight, took him to be one of the 
reformed preachers from Geneva, many of whom, 
together with other political fugitives, were then 
in London. The new-comer, a rather young man 
of vigorous and determined appearance, succeeded 
in engaging the angry mob by an adroit address. 
He spoke a fluent English, and was master of 
many popular expressions. Among other flatier- 
ing things, he called on them, as noble and mag- 
nanimous Britons, to go home, and allow honor- 
able foreigners, visiting hospitable Albion, to re- 
main unmolested. His accent betrayed his Swiss 
origin, but he made himself fully and impressively 
= understood, aided by his powerful voice, remind- 


‘ing one of the style of a preacher, which his im- 





* Mirabeau describes this scene in his ‘‘ Lettres a 


Chamfort,” p. 54, 
fr 
> 
ai D4 : rr 


yl 





They had to wait a long while in the coffee- 
house, but the stranger would not leave until he 
saw them safe in the eabs; and, in the mean 
time, indicated his great conversational talents. 
He spoke frankly and freely about his own per 
sonal concerns, saying that his name was Duval, 
that he had filled a pulpit in Geneva until within 
eighteen months, and had been exiled from his 
home and position after the revolution of 1782, 
during which he had sided with the defeated pop- 
ular party. Mirabeau seemed to take an interest 
in Duval, but hesitated to make himself known, 
considering neither the time nor the place suit- 
The keen-sighted 
Duval divined this scruple, and said, anticipating 
it: “I know that it is Count Mirabeau with whom 
I have the honor of becoming acquainted on this 
occasion, I have heard much of you, and my 
political friends and companions, who are here 
eating the bitter bread of exile, heartily welcome 
Count Mirabeau to London. We, the men of the 
Geneva democracy, have the greatest desire to 
obtain your friendship and sympathy. A few 


able for such a disclosure. 


64 


days ago, as we were sitting in the Café de Paris 


in Haymarket, you entered, and your name was 
mentioned by some one present. We spoke of 
your great work on despotism, which is read in 
all our Swiss valleys, and we agreed that it would 
be of vast advantage to us and our cause if we 
The condi- 
tion of our native land, and the hopes of Euro- 


could hold a secret council with you. 


pean democracy, we would like to make a subject 
of consideration with Mirabeau. To-day I may 
perhaps consider this wish as favorably received, 
as accident has caused this meeting, and the hu- 
morous ignorance and narrow-minded inhospital- 
ity of this English mob have given me an oppor- 
tunity of being noticed by you.” 

Mirabeau pressed his hand gratefully, and gave 
him a card with his address, requesting him to 
call at an appointed hour, and claim in any man- 
ner pleasing to him the thanks he merited. 

At this moment Lord Trumpeter seemed to 
have returned, as the renewed cries of the crowd 
were heard, most of whom had not yet dispersed. 
Duval went out first to see whether the cabs were 
ready, returning with the intelligence that the 
buffoon he had sent had brought only one, capa- 
ble of holding but two persons, saying that no 
other was at the stand. 

Mirabeau, turning to the Parisian lady, who, 
in consequence of the fright, and excitement she 
had undergone, seemed to be suffering severely, 
remarked that there could be no doubt as to who 
should have the preference in attempting an es- 
cape. ‘I shall remain here with the Countess 
de Nehra,” he remarked, “until another convey- 
ance arrive. This cannot be long delayed, as we 
are under the protection of our friend Duval.” 

The condition of the Parisienne grew worse, so 
that there could be no thought of refusing the of- 
fer. She was almost fainting, and the count and 
While 
Mirabeau was thus making himself useful, he did 


the Irishman were obliged to carry her. 


not observe .that a fashionable equipage was 
standing in the middle of the street. The owner 
was greeted with great respect by those around, 
while he sent his powdered footman, dressed in a 


rich livery, to make inquiries as to all that had 





COUNT MIRABEAU, 


occurred. Soon after the servant approached 
Mirabeau, requesting him and his lady to take 
seats in the carriage of his master, the first lord 
of the treasury, Minister William Pitt. Mirabeau 
glanced in astonishment at this gentleman, who 
kindly saluted and beckoned to him. His ac- 
guaintance with William Pitt dated only from the 
preceding day, when he paid the minister his first 
visit, to deliver the letter of introduction from 
Mirabeau did not hesitate 
to accept the invitation, hastening into the coffee- 
house to bring Madame de Nehra, and both en- 
tered the carriage of the generous Englishman, 
who insisted, with the amiability peculiar to him 
in private life, that his guests take the seats of 
honor opposite him. 

William Pitt was at the head of the English 
cabinet, although only in his twenty-fifth year. 
In affairs of state he was much older than his con- 


Count d’Entraigues. 


temporaries, while his grave and piercing intellect, 
ever calm and confident, often conquered his op- 
ponents before they began the conflict. In famil- 
iar intercourse the freshness and liveliness of 
youth became predominant, and an attractive 
smile returned to those classic lips that both be- 
trayed his eloquence, and softened the austere 
wrinkles which thought had furrowed on his 
brow. Mirabeau was charmed in making this 
discovery of the minister’s genial nature, for at 
the visit he paid on the preceding day, and on 
which he placed many hopes, he beheld only the 
wary and cold statesman, weighing every word, 
Pitt, 
with good-natured solicitude, occupied himself 


and treating him with inflexible precision. 


particularly with Madame de Nehra, thinking that 
he must console and tranquillize her on account 
of the ridiculous scene through which she had 
passed, although in reality she had not for an 
instant lost her good-humor. 

The carriage went in the direction of Mira- 
beau’s dwelling, for the minister insisted on tak- 
ing home his protégés. 

“Tt was only our rudest and most ignorant 
people,” repeatedly remarked Pitt, “‘ that com- 
mitted such improprieties against honorable 


strangers. You must not judge us all from 


- 


expression of kindliness and even modesty. 


A WALK THROUGH LONDON. 


what you have seen to-day, count. Our people 
as a nation are good, honest, and respectful, and 
bear with equal dignity and obedience the laws 
of the strong government under which they live 
and are happy. There are, you know, unculti- 
vated and insolent persons in Paris as in Lon- 
don, or in any other large city, where bad men 
find refuge, and the commotion that has dishon- 
ored our streets might as easily have happened 
anywhere else.” 

‘Mobs are certainly by nature everywhere the 
same, nor do the aristocracy differ from them,” 
“From this fact, the deduc- 
tion of course is that these two exclusive spheres 


replied the count. 


of society are similar in Great Britain as in 
France, and are, in essentials, one and the same 
class.” 

Pitt violently bit his underlip at these words, 
but, immediately recovering himself, regained his 
“In 
our country the aristocracy widely differ from 
the mob,” he replied, with an apparently gentle 
smile, but at the same time casting on the French 
count a piercing side-glance. “In neighboring 
countries, it is possible that the nobility may be 
aiming at a tumultuous dissolution of the state 
government ; fortunately, we know nothing of the 
kind here. We are old-fashioned; we have laws 
that reach every one, and an aristocracy similar 
to that worthily and rightfully becoming a civil- 
ized kingdom.” 

“France is not so fortunate,” said Mirabeau, 
“ There, all 
are fast constituting a mob, if we do not succeed 


his countenance touched by sadness. 


in creating a new and sound national body from 
the universal corruption. The people in their 
virtue and power will then be discovered, like the 
precious statue of some divinity, long lost beneath 
the ruins of an ancient city. But I will maintain, 
even at the risk of contradicting your lordship, 
that the Paris mob never could have been guilty 
of such behavior toward respectable strangers. 
Our lower classes are too cheerful and childlike, 
and at the same time too polite, to give offence 
through any notion of national hatred. To-day, 
in our own persons, " have experienced the 





65 


mere spite—the old prejudice—of the British 
against the French. I would not have believed 
it, lord chancellor, that the legacy of your noble 
father, the Earl of Chatham, who was a lusty 
hater of France, would be executed in the streets 
of London.” 

“This hatred was no legacy, but a state princi- 
ple,” replied Pitt, with dignified calmness. It 
was part of the political system of my father, 
and this was founded on the idea that France is 
the natural enemy of England; and that the lat- 
ter, to become great and powerful, must be isola- 
ted, and collect within herself all her resources. 
Even if it had been necessary to subdue France, in 
order to raise England to her true position, Lord 
Chatham would not have hesitated a moment to go 
relentlessly forward with his system; but he was 
not a barbarian—he did not refuse to recognize 
in individuals those qualities that are to be ex+ 
pected in such a highly-cultivated and honorable 
nation as the French. And I esteem myself 
happy in being their friend, although I know how 
to prevent my country from making an imprudent 
treaty, and thus ruining her. However, we are 
not so segregated from France and the rest of the 
world as not to learn, and, adopting what is good, 
promote our own greatness.” 

Mirabeau bowed respectfully, at the same time 
permitting it to be seen that he ascribed such 
liberal sentiments to the accustomed diplomatic 
tone of the British minister. “Iam not,” he said, 
significantly, “such a friend of France, as to be 
blind to her faults and her degeneracy. But, 
again, I leve her so much and so seriously, that I 
would gladly see her whipped with scorpions, if 
such chastisement would reéstablish her social as 
well as political morality, and make her strong 
and healthy again. If a humiliation of France 
by England could lead to such a result, I would 
gladly offer my head and hands for such a pur- 
pose. I know that your great father entertained 
an unbounded hatred of France; he shuddered 
in all his limbs at the mere utterance of the word 
Frenchman, and grounded his ideas on the abso- 
lute supremacy of either France or England. He 
seemed to regard it as a law of Nature, that, if 


66 


the latter is to be great and powerful, the 
former must be annihilated. We are, however, 
approaching a new era, in which all’ states that 
are free, honest, and vital, can occupy the same 
rank and stand together in closer relationship. 
We shall have to force France to become inde- 
pendent and happy, and whoever thus coerces 
her, in whatever manner, is her benefactor. Yes, 
your lordship, England has a nobler mission to 
Let us attack 
and conquer France ; free England offers the best 


execute than to hate her neighbor. 


position from which the onset can be made. 
But it must have, for its principal object, the 
restoration of the French kingdom to its senses, 
and the gift of independence to the people. 
These thoughts, as I intimated to your lordship 
yesterday, brought me to London, and I would 
be happy if the ministry of Pitt should find it 
reconcilable with its policy to make use of the 
services of Mirabeau.” 

Pitt politely smiled, and looking down he 
seemed to indulge in an ironical silence, at the 
same time assuming a certain complimentary 
friendliness. His sharply-defined countenance, 
easily asserting a hard and repulsive character, 
had a certain charm of intellect, which gave to 
his cold superiority that mildness and considera- 
tion with which he listened to Mirabeau’s remarks. 

The carriage was passing St. James’s Palace, 
and Pitt glanced searchingly at the yindows of 
the royal residence, as if he desired to make 
some discovery. Then turning to Mirabeau, who 
was waiting for a reply in the greatest suspense, 
he said, quickly: “The policy of Pitt’s ministry, 
my dear count, will gladly make use of all promi- 
nent minds, but its aim must always be conserva- 
tive. In England we must defend the cause of 
royalty, whatever may happen, The people con- 
stitute, after all, only a doubtful idea—a phan- 
tom—about whose existence the most hetero- 
geneous conceptions are evermore debating. It 
is always sought where it is not found, and found 
where it is not sought. How unreasonable and 
dangerous it would be to build the policy of a 
state on such a changeable notion, that never can 
stand any practical test! Although England 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


protects and represents national liberty at our 
hearth-stone, she is interested in preventing the 
success in France of any such popular policy, for 
that would occasion a universal national mania, 
plunging Europe into an abyss! We desire to 
live here in quiet and comfort; we are no ideal- 
ists, count ; we are Englishmen, and liberty must 
fill our pockets as well as our heads. We must 
become rich—that is our destiny—all else depends 
on the wealth of a state. We must firmly hold 
to this true and only foundation of our policy, if 
Mind alone is 
the mere efflorescence of a nation, and a beauti- 


we are ever to become powerful. 


ful ornament; but opulence is solid and resistless 
strength. Pitt’s idea is to raise altars to wealth 
in our green fields and along our streams, in our 
factories, and commercial ports. Our conflict with 
other nations must be that of peaceful emulation.” 


Mirabeau felt himself nonsuited. He was 


silent for a moment, considering whether he 


should give free utterance to his indignation or 
not. “Your lordship must forgive me,” he said, 
“that, in having an enthusiastic admiration for 
your form of government, I would gladly see its 
beneficial influence applied to France! I envy 
every Englishman as possessing more individual 
And 


this constitution, a masterpiece among all known 


freedom than any other man on the globe. 


systems of human liberty, must have wonderful 
inherent life. A nation, originally by no means 
the noblest and most gifted, has attained the 
highest rank by this charter of liberty. 

“The British in themselves, by the way, are 
mere animals, incapable of the higher aspirations 
—they are stupid, superstitious, prejudiced, unre- 
liable in business, and governed by mercenary 
lust. And such a nation is protected against its 
own ignorance and immorality, because it has 
What 
would not this country become, if the pure prin- 


recognized the right of civil freedom! 


ciples of its public law could be extended to its 
administration—if the evils yet remaining in the 
one could be pervaded by the spirit of the other.* 





“Lettres 4 Chamfort,” p. 69; also “Lettres de 
Cachet,” and ‘*Considérations sur l’Ordre de Cincin- 
natus.”’ 


A WALK THROUGH LONDON. 


The present situation of England proves to me 
more than ever what a bulwark against all acci- 
dents and weaknesses of the reigning power is its 
form of government. It is the fountain of health, 
even when the ruler is physically and mentally 
diseased. It is said of your King George IIL, 
that the light of his mind is setting, and a night 
of insanity is likely to envelop the British throne. 
But that cannot injure the country or the well- 
being of the people. Your charter does not 
decay, and by its own strength accomplishes that 
which is best; it is lucid and rational, even if the 
intellect of royalty be obscured and impaired, be- 
cause it is the power that distributes blessings, 
and therefore it is of little consequence what 
ability is associated with the head of the state. 
George III., as report has it, falls asleep while 
reading important and urgent papers—a repre- 
sentative indeed of a happy people—of your 
_ political paradise! Happy the nation whose king 
sinks into slumber in the midst of business, and 
to whom it is indifferent whether their monarch 
be awake or asleep while the great affairs of the 
world are discussed !” 

The countenance of the British statesman was 
losing its amiable expression while Mirabeau 
spoke. A certain angry hint, often prominent in 
Pitt’s demeanor, was a slight quivering, which, 
however, on this occasion almost immediately 
disappeared, for by a skilful turn he controlled his 
displeasure at some of the rude and false words 
of the impulsive count. “His majesty King 
George ITI. is perfectly well,” said the minister, 
gravely and impressively. ‘For a long time the 
health of his majesty has indeed not been very 
good ; but, God be praised! we may consider the 
kindest and most glorious of monarchs forever 
freed from the infirmity to which you allude. 
The contrary would be a great misfortune for 
_ England. Without the vital and personal co- 
operation of the king for the good of our country 
—without his strength and skill in governing, 
the real basis of our happiness would be wanting. 
The English constitution is not a self-acting 
machine, spreading opulence and liberty by the 
mere movement of its mechanism. Your Montes- 


oF 





67 


quieu has, however, made you Frenchmen be- 
lieve this.. He saw in our government a universal 
remedy—a sort of catholicon, that need only be 
applied to any nation to create or renew all the 
No, Count Mira- 
beau, it is no such instrument—it could not be: 


blessings of political happiness. 


and if a wise king is not felt in its administration, 
it is of no use. Guard yourself against that folly 
of seeking identical state institutions for all man- 
kind. Your Montesquieu has drawn after him a 
swarm of philosophic saviors of the human race, 
who are all brooding over the possibility of attain- 
ing and confirming in one scheme political free- 
dom and social happiness. I should be sorry if 
you also waste your talents in attempting to fill 
this leaky vessel of the Danaides. In state affairs 
you deal with individuals, not with systems. 
How could I manage with the parties surround- 
ing me, if I considered them other than persons 
who feel and act as human beings, and therefore 
can be influenced by their fellows? I do not my- 

self despair of uniting with me, for the benefit of 

the whole, even my most dangerous opponents, 

such as Fox, Burke, and others. The question 

of the day is to build the edifice, and it matters 

little whence the materials come.” 

“Fox, for example, who introduced the India 
Bill, and the great democratic Burke, who, during 
the American War, dared vindicate the principle 
of popular government?” asked Mirabeau, shak- 
ing his head. 

Pitt seemed not to care about entering into de 
tails of this kind. Not noticing Mirabeau’s ques- 
tion, he turned to Madame de Nehra, asking her 
pardon for the strictly political turn the conver- 
He 
drew her attention to a large millinery store they 


sation had unexpectedly and unduly taken. 


were passing, displaying ladies’ hats in its show- 
windows. “Would you allow me to choose an 
English hat for you?” he asked, smiling, and 
“Tt 
would be nothing but justice that the prime min- 
ister of England should atone for the offence that 


frightened and insulted one of the most charming 


making a motion as if to stop the carriage. 


ladies in London. Your permission would give 
me the greatest satisfaction; for I desire your 


68 


favorable opinion of me, not.as a tiresome politi- 
cian, but a man of taste in the fine arts. The 
large French hat of the countess was certainly 
that which excited our ‘stupid, ignorant, super-, 
stitious, and corrupt people,’ as Count Mirabeau 
has done me the honor to designate all my coun- 
trymen ; let William Pitt therefore present you 
with an English hat, such as adorns the prettiest 
heads in this country. We cannot change the 
fashions of those among whom we temporarily 
reside. Every land has its own peculiar ideas of 
taste, in dress especially, and as strangers we owe 
them consideration.” 

‘Henriette cast down her eyes in perplexity, 
while at the same time she sent a questioning 
glance to Mirabeau, who seemed still occupied 
with the last expressions of Pitt. After receiving 
a sign of approval, she bowed to the minister 
with graceful frankness, declaring she would ac- 
cept his present. The carriage stopped, and Pitt, 
with all the grace of an accomplished cavalier, 
offered his arm to Madame de Nehra, to accom- 
pany her into the store. Pitt showed considera- 
ble tact in this gallantry, and Henriette was de- 
lighted with her fashionable acquisition, with 
which she immediately replaced her enormous 
Paris hat. Mirabeau, whom the statesman seemed 
rather to avoid, had gone, unperc2ived, to the 
After Ma- 


dame de Nehra had expressed her satisfaction, it 


counter, and paid for the purchase. 


was requested that the bill be sent to the min- 
ister’s house, who was sadly mortified on being 
informed that payment had already been made, 
Looking rather out of humor, he invited them to 
reénter his carriage. Mirabeau, however, asked 
permission to take one of the cabs standing near, 
as his dwelling was not very distant, and lay in a 
contrary direction, and he did not wish to abuse 
the kindness shown him. Pitt cast a cold, scru- 
tinizing glance at him, and consented, slightly 
bowing. They separated, with an evident mutual 
misunderstanding. 

On his return home, Mirabeau threw himself 
in great displeasure on the sofa, exclaiming vio- 
lently against the disappointments and vexations 
that he experienced everywhere. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


Henriette approached him, laying her hand 
soothingly on his burning brow. ‘ Why are you 
so dissatisfied, my friend?” she asked, gently and 
lovingly. 

“T am at war with myself,” he replied, sighing, 
“ Accident placed me in a most favorable situa- 
tion, in which I could converse familiarly with 
the first statesman of England. And, instead of 
taking advantage of it, I lost all prudence, and 
blundered in the most absurd manner. I was 
always passionate and rash, but I can never 
forgive myself for being such a blockhead as to 
utter uncalled-for truth, when I ought to have 
been reserved and calculating. I conversed with 
the British prime minister much as I would have 
chatted at a dinner with Chamfort or Condorcet. 
My dignity may have been perhaps gratified, but 
I was very foolish, especially for one who imag- 
ined that he would find in London diplomatic 
employment, or serve Pitt’s ministry by secret 
missions, I could not have thought it possible 
that my natural frankness would play me such a 
trick. Instead of revealing my ideas and inten- 
tions, I ought to have enacted a kind of comedy, 
and, with a mingling of ingenuousness and per- 
fidy, accredited myself with ability to read his 
most secret thoughts, and thus use all my skill in 
In- 
stead of that, I play my own notes on my own 


executing, as it were, variations to his tune. 


instrument, and when I find he does not like my 
Well, if I 
cannot do better than that, I may as well com- 


music, I almost knock him down! 


mence at once my Chinese grammar, to save us 
from starvation !” 

“Do not feel so provoked with yourself, Mir- 
abeau,” replied Henriette, caressing him with her 
hand. 
ter, and I like to see men boldly defend their 


“You are as good as this English minis- 
views. If he will not employ you, we can dis- 
pense with him. We are not without brains, and 
a great future is before you! Let us be merry 
to-day ; I feel as well and cheerful as I ever did. 
The walk with you has almost had the effect of 
a miracle, and I seem to myself like another be- 
ing. And have I not gained a new hat by our 
adventure ?—a hat so light and pretty that Tita- 


A WALK THROUGH LONDON. 


nia, the fairy queen, might wear it—and chosen 
for me by his lordship, Minister William Pitt, but 
honestly paid for by my lover. Shall I make you 
laugh as I formerly used to do?” She hastened 
away, calling loudly for Miss Sarah, who rather 
unwillingly left her comfortable place on the sofa, 
Henriette took the old 
Paris hat she had brought home with her, putting 


at her master’s feet. 


it on the dog’s head, and tying the ribbons 
around her neck and paws, although she did not 
appear to appreciate the head-dress, moving 





69 


about in it very uneasily, and finally retiring to 
a corner of the room. Henriette stood before 
the pet, making ridiculous grimaces and ges- 
tures, evidently endeavoring to imitate Lord 
Trumpeter in his assault upon the Parisian fash- 
ion. Mirabeau could not withstand this comic 
scene, and rewarded her with hearty laughter, 
that interrupted his melancholy humor. Delight- 
ed at her success in so readily dissipating his 
gloomy thoughts, she ran to him, and expressed 
her thanks with a kiss, 


GENEVA AND PARIS. 





CHAPTER IX. 
THE GENEVA FUGITIVES. IN LONDON. 


MrRaBEAU was in his study, apparently occu- 
pied in writing; but, on observing him more 
closely, it was evident that his eyes wandered 
from the paper, first to the window, and out 
into the foggy London sky, and then sadly to 
Henriette, who was sitting opposite, engaged in 
some domestic employment. 

“Tt is impossible for me to collect my thoughts 
to-day,” he said, impulsively rising and approach- 
ing Henriette, who also discontinued her work, 
looking at him scrutinizingly. 

“This fog is really detestable,” she said, seiz- 
ing his hand, and leaning her head against it, as 
if wearied. “I cannot comprehend how people 
can live in a country where the day is turned 
into night. I really shudder, and all the ghost- 
How 
those heavy mists heave as a sea over the roofs 
of the houses! 


stories of my childhood seem realized. 


See that grotesque form dan- 
cing past our window; does it not seem to fold 
its hands above its head? Mirabeau, that is on 
our account ; the phantom laughs at us because 
we are still in London, uselessly wasting time 
and money.” 

“The phantom is right,” replied Mirabeau, 
sadly and dejectedly. ‘We have passed many 
If I 
were a manufacturer of boot-blacking, I have no 


months in London, simpletons as we are! 





doubt I would soon make a fortune, but my lit- 
erary works I offer in vain to all those publish- 
ers. I make new projects every day, extend my 
preparations to all quarters of the globe, and as 
a reward I am received with a shrug and a heart- 
less glance. During these fruitless efforts, our 
money has again disappeared like the smoke in a 
chimney. For several weeks we have been mak- 
ing all manner of retrenchments, and have been 
scarcely able to procure necessaries ;. if manna 
does not drop down on us to-day, we can nei- 
ther breakfast nor dine to-morrow. To cap the 
climax of my derisive destiny, I am writing a 
sermon on the immortality of the soul.” 

“A sermon?” asked Henriette, surprised. 
“Are you becoming a preacher, Mirabeau? and 
can you take that role so easily without prepara- 
tion?” She sprang from her seat, and, approach- 
ing the desk at which he had been writing, seized 
the sheets, and glanced quickly and eagerly at 
their contents. ‘‘ Why, sure enough, it is a ser- 
mon on the immortality of the soul!” she ex- 
claimed. Her countenance became grave and 
thoughtful, and she regarded him half shyly, half 
reverentially. Her attitude was so ludicrous, that 
Mirabeau regained his good-humor, 

“Tt is simply a kindness for a friend that has 
made me a preacher, but only for one discourse,” 
he replied, taking up the sheets and contemplating 
them with a certain self-sufficiency. “You re- 
member Duval, the man who rendered us such an 
important service on the day of our Regent-Street 


THE GENEVA FUGITIVES IN LONDON. 


adventure, delivering us from the mob. He has 
asked me to do him a service, which I cannot re- 
fuse. You are aware that he is one of the Gene- 
va fugitives, exiled in consequence of the revolu- 
tion of 1782, and. whom the English received and 
protected. He has been seized by that anti-cos- 
mopolitan disease, home-sickness, and is making 
arrangements to return to his country. The gra- 
cious aristocracy now governing the Republic of 
Geneva, are promising that his wishes may be 
gratified; that he may even be permitted again 
to resume his position, making, however, the hu- 
miliating condition (as I consider it) that he must 
send them some evidences of his doctrines. 
Among these is a demand for a sermon on the 
immortality of the soul. They consider it possi- 
ple that a revolutionist, who fought for popular 
government, may also have entered into some 
conflict with the faith of his church. In this 
difficulty he has addressed himself to me for a 
sermon, written in the purest and most forcible 
French. He has long been an admirer of my 
style, having heard it favorably spoken of, and I 
fancy that he saved us so energetically from the 
hands of Lord Trumpeter, in order to have a 
claim on my rhetorical favors. I hope that by 
my aid he will pass a good examination. It 
amuses me to fancy myself a clergyman, main- 
taining with a sort of pompous liberality a doc- 
trine so sublime. I will read my sermon to you 
this evening at tea.” * 

“Do you not believe in the immortality of the 
soul, Mirabeau?” asked Henriette, softly, looking 
tenderly and searchingly into his eyes. 

“Wait until tea-time, my child,” replied Mira- 
beau, smiling, “and you will learn from my ser- 
mon how generously I promise an immortal para- 
dise to every man. I will furnish any one, wish- 
ing to make use of proof. and desiring a future 
Eternal 
life is an inheritance every one may claim who 


life, a complete arsenal of arguments. 


is satisfied of the existence of his own soul. But 
all claims are not paid, and some inheritances 
fail to reach their heirs. How do we know what 





* Vide Montigny, ‘‘ Mémoires de Mirabeau,”’ vol. iv., 
p. 174. 





71 


may be lost in the suit that death institutes 
against us? I cannot draw even the revenue 
my father, the Marquis de Mirabeau, not only 
promised me, but which was conceded as a right. 
He takes into account the debts he formerly paid 
for me, and I am at law with him about them. 
Suppose immortality should thus be withheld from 
us. Suppose it be taken into account how much 
of the original dowry of the soul we have wasted 
in the pitiful things of this earth, and that noth- 
ing remains to be paid. Alas! it is not unreason- 
able to think that annihilation awaits many a 
reckless child of Adam. Against my father, I 
can at least employ an advocate. I have engaged 
the renowned lawyer Target in my affairs in Paris. 
There then is a hope for me, though a slight one; 
but what advocate can I employ when the Father 
of the Universe closes the book of reckoning— 
when my wretched soul appears before him, and 
receives the judgment that there is no balance 
due me?” 
Henriette anxiously clung to him, entreating 
and pacifying him with her loving eyes, as she 
always did when his wild and derisive temper 
was mastering him. She smilingly asked whether 
he would not again be a good and brave man. 
“You are right in scolding me to-day,” he said, 
“The fog without, 
and this sermon within, at which I have worked 


with a melancholy mildness, 


like a poor scrivener all the morning, have made 
me ill-humored. It is becoming a mental disease 
with me that all I think of leads me back to the 
miserable difficulties I have with my father. 
They poison all my purest contemplations, and 
demoralize my whole being in every nerve and 
fibre. 


whatever may be the consequence. 


I must make an end of this business, 
Target wrote 
to me yesterday that there was little prospect of 
I would 
immediately return to Paris, and venture, as a 


his gaining my suit against the marquis. 


last resource, to have a personal interview with 
him, and see what final impression I can make; 
but I am not sure whether our despotic laws do 
not still give him power over my person. I am 
ignorant as to the continuance of that parental 


tyranny, by which he incarcerated me, and ap- 


72 


pointed my residence wherever it pleased him. 
If he can still do so, in consequence of the former 
* orders of the king, I must be very careful how I 
meet my loving parent. In any other case, I 
would personally undertake the conflict with him. 
I should also like to know what my bosom 
friends—my creditors—think of me, so that I 
could decide as to the judiciousness of my re- 
turn.” ; 

Henriette arose in great animation, and seemed 
She stood before 
him with downcast eyes and heaving bosom, but, 


to be meditating on some plan. 


presently lifting up her bright and resolute face, 
I will 
reconnoitre and arrange every thing for you; and 


she said: “Send me to Paris, Mirabeau! 


you will discover that your Yet-Lee is the most 
adroit and reliable agent you can find. You must 
remain in London awaiting my letters and return. 
You have no conception yet of my activity and 
enterprise when the question is to accomplish 
something for you, or even to encounter extreme 
danger. Oh, I will go to the ministers at Ver- 
sailles, and endeavor to convince them that those 
abominable regal judgments which bound you so 
helplessly to your father’s despotic will, ought 
Then I will visit 
the merchants to whom you owe money, and, if 


not to be in force any longer. 


possible, make an accommodation with them, 
asking to leave you unmolested until your finan- 
After that I 
will call on the booksellers in Paris, speak to 


cial affairs are in better condition. 


them of your literary plans, and gain the favor 
of some rich publisher for the journal you intend 
to edit, entitled Le Conservateur.* My friend, I 
shall not slumber in Paris until I have succeeded 
in accomplishing something for you. You may 
rely on me.” 

Mirabeau contemplated her with joyful surprise, 
“ That 


is a capital idea!’” he exclaimed; “and I really 


and pressed her passionately in his_arms. 


telieve that. by making such a raid on Paris you 
will assist me materially. Henriette, by the in- 
tervention of your beauty, you could adjust my 
difficulties, and smooth the way for a return, much 





* Peuchet, “‘ Mémoires sur Mirabeau et son Epoque,” 
vol, ii., p. 305. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


better than I could do with my impulsiveness, 
which ruins every thing almost before I have at- 
tempted my purposes. There is something of 
magic in your appearance, so that no one you ad- 
dress can very well resist. What more effectual 
agency can I employ than your charming appear- 
ance, your sweetness and grace? Your pure and 
smiling lips, pleading for me, cannot possibly be 
disregarded, even by a barbarian!” 

Henriette, with an exclamation of delight, put 
her arms around his neck; but presently left him, 
walking up and down the room in evident excite- 
ment, apparently occupied with her preparations 
for the voyage. 

“But it will not do,” added Mirabeau, after a 
*No, 
you might be exposed to dangers—to complica- 


pause, his expression changing to sadness. 


tions—which I would not care for you to hazard. 
You are not safe in Paris; you will be recognized 
as the former fugitive from the convent, and be 
returned to the dominion of your prioress, who 
I shall 
be indeed undone if you are snatched away from 


will reclaim you by order of the police. 


me.” 
“Why have you so little faith? why are you 
so timid, Mirabeau?” she replied, all her charac- 
teristic determination visible in her features, 
giving a still nobler bearing to her whole appear- 
ance. “Trust me, they neither shall nor can 
recognize me. Am I not an Englishwoman, hay- 
ing a passport in regular form? Besides this 
document, do I not possess a much more genuine, 
English hat, so that on my arrival I shall be con- 
sidered as an Anglaise of undoubted origin? I 
shall boldly dispute my identity with the former 
Henriette van Haren. And, in fact, amI the same 
person? Has not your love changed me, so that 
I bear little resemblance to what I formerly was ? 
In those days I was startled if I met a cat in the 
silence of the cloister garden; now I feel courage 
enough to accept the gauntlet from the whole 
world, to fight in your favor, and travel not only 
to Paris, but to the Feejee Islands, as your mes- 
senger and agent.” 

Mirabeau was still undecided, but Henriette 


continued her urgent entreaties, uniting them 


THE GENEVA FUGITIVES IN LONDON. 


with vehement and obvious reasons. He began 
at length to consider the execution of the plan, 
and unfold to her his wishes and views. At the 
same time he was glad to think that Chamfort 
was still in Paris, from whom she could expect 
protection and assistance. The departure was 
fixed for the following day. Mirabeau intended 
to write a concise memorial on the condition of 
his circumstances, which Henriette was to hand 
He wrote 


with such uncommon rapidity that one night was 


to the minister, Baron de Breteuil. 


sufficient to accomplish this; and he began to 
occupy himself with matters preparatory to their 
separation. Suddenly he remembered a fact of 
great importance. This was in reference to trav- 
elling expenses. When Henriette gently touched 
this point, after waking prudent arrangements for 
every thing else, Mirabeau started, striking his 
forehead with an agonizing movement. 

“Money! Money!” he exclaimed, walking up 
“ Where shall we find 
it for your voyage? We have not a single penny 


- and down the apartment. 


in the house; I know of no helping hand, which 
Really, dear Count- 
ess Yet-Lee, you cannot travel without funds, and 


would replenish my pocket. 


what are we to do?” 

“No money for travelling expenses !”’ repeated 
Henrictte, casting’ down her eyes in confusion. 
“ And, I suppose, we have no credit to raise 
any?” 

“ A thought occurs to me,” replied Mirabeau ; 
“ What do you think of ad- 
dressing ourselves to Elliot? You know—I am 


after some musing. 


on intimate terms with him; for we were fellow- 
students and sufferers in the school of the Abbé 
Chocquart. During my stay in London he has 
Go 
to him immediately, and say that I find myself 


often proved his fraternal affection for me. 


in a painful difficulty, and that he would greatly 
oblige by lending me one hundred guineas. The 
case is urgent, and Sir Gilbert Elliot the only 
refuge of my wrecked treasury. Will you?” 

A slight blush tinted Henriette’s cheeks, She 
hesitated to reply, appearing to be in some em- 
barrassment. 

“You can go boldly to his dwelling, continued 





73 


‘Mirabeau, for he lives with his amiable family, 


ranking with the most esteemed and distinguished 
I should like you to execute this 
commission for me, for I have no other reliable 


in London. 


person whom I could send on such an errand. 
Our servants are ill-humored, because for some 
time I have not been able to pay them their 
wages, and, besides, they do not live as well as 
formerly in our house. Therefore, my love, do 
you go yourself. Sir Gilbert Elliot is a noble 
cavalier, who thinks a great deal of you; he is 
of that class of Englishmen who, in money mat- 
He will con- 


sider it an honor, as it really is, to serve a friend 


ters, manifest a truly royal soul. 


with such a trifle as a few hundred guineas.” ° 
“Tf you think I ought to go, I will,” said Hen- 

riette, after a pause. “ You must always point 

She hastened 


to dress herself for her visit, as usual offering 


out to me the path of my duty.” 


him her farewell kiss. 

* You will take.a coach;” he said. ‘The mists 
outside are so dense, that I fear you may not be 
able to find your way to Belgrave Square, where 
our friend resides. Besides, it is too far for you 
to go on foot.” 

“ And, for all that, Countess Yet-Lee would 
confront greater inconveniences than a London 
“ The 


purse of Count Mirabeau just now does not be 


fog,” said Henriette, laughing merrily. 


long to those that can afford even moderate ex- 
penses. In its bottomless depth not even a few 
shillings, to pay a vehicle, could be found.” Cour- 
tesying, she quickly left the room, which Mirabeau 
Seating him- 
self again at his desk, he began to sketch the me- 


paced restlessly and thoughtfully. 


morial on his relations with his father, which Hen- 
riette was to deliver to Baron de Breteuil in Paris. 
The sermon on the immortality of the soul was 
temporarily laid away in a drawer. Just as he 
was in full flow of composition, and his pen could 
hardly express his thoughts fast enough, some 
one knocked loudly at the door, and entered on 
hearing his rather reluctant “‘ Come in.” 

The visitor was of middle age, his physiognomy 
characterized by insolence and daring. He was 
small in stature, but indicated great energy, and 


a coming the intruder. 


14 


his whole bearing was that of an adventurous 
man. His dress had a dash of the whimsical; and 
his gray bat, which he did not remove until he 
had already reached the centre of the room, was 
remarkable not only for its round, broad-brimmed 
shape, but for the flaming red ribbon with which 
it was bound. 

“Ah, welcome, Etienne Claviére!” exclaimed 
Mirabeau, rising from his seat and warmly wel- 
“T hope you have not 
come to say farewell. It is said that you Gene- 
vans, although reposing here on beds of roses, 
are not quite satisfied with the hospitality of Eng- 
land, and are thinking of changing your asylum to 
some other country.” 

“Several of us intend to depart,” replied the 
“Siordet, Janot, and 


others, are going to Neufchatel, to try their for- 


stranger, discontentedly. 


tune there under that magistracy which, accord- 
ing to my idea, will scarcely protect revolutionary 
fugitives. Grenus, Ringler, and many more, are 
to retire to Constance, under the dominion of the 
dear, absolute Emperor of Germany, and a large 
number depart for Brussels. You see, count, the 
Geneva democratic refugees cannot live peace- 
ably on British ground.—But I remain in Lon- 
don.” 

“You are right,” said Mirabeau, “ your com- 
patriots are committing a political blunder, in 
separating and fleeing to all points of the compass. 
They ought to have remained together in this 
city, forming a steady and strong revolutionary 
community. Even if but a small club in the be- 
ginning, it would gradually have attracted all the 
elements of liberty in Europe, and have been a 
centre whence could have originated insurrections 
against tyranny, especially that of France,” 

“T have not given up that hope,” replied Cla- 
viére, solemnly, and with a flash from his bril- 
liant. eyes. 
tinue here, composing a revolutionary committee, 
that will soon be strengthened by the arrival of 
‘other Genevans entertaining similar doctrines. 


“ Duroveray, D’Yvernois, and I, con- 
? ? ’ 


Among those who will join us, are Dumont, 
Chauvet, Marat, and Melly. 
the organization aiming to subvert the govern- 


We shall complete 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


ment of your country, and I have come to an- 
nounce this to you, and take counsel with the 
strongest intellect of France, whose vocation it is 
to liberate her.” He seated himself on the sofa, 
awaiting Mirabeau’s reply, and playing with the 
ribbon on his hat. 

“‘T shall not fail you when there is something 
to be done,” said Mirabeau, standing before Cla- 
viére, “but, first, tell me why so many of your 
countrymen leave London, where they have 
found such a hospitable and excellent reception, 
not only privately, but by the government? The 
Geneva democrats who were exiled in the struggle 
of 1782, are the real favorites of the British peo- 
ple, and all the world knows that the government 
secretly abetted the attempted revolution, and 
promised assistance of every description. You 
let me perceive as much, or rather acknowledged 
it, Claviére, when I appeared in your counting- 
room in Geneva the same year, and when you so 
promptly extended your confidence to me. You 
were at that time the rich banker, and I the poor 
author, who presented at your desk a check with 
which a Swiss publisher had blessed me in ex- 
change for one of my manuscripts. You imme- 
diately cashed the draft, although it was not quite 
in order, and we entered into a familiar political 
conversation, sympathizing in the same senti- 
ments. On another occasion, you informed me 
that an outbreak was expected, in order to throw 
off the yoke of the aristocracy that was ruining 
your republic, and, in its place, to found the only 
true government—by representatives of the people. 
You introduced me among the patriots of Geneva, 
who afterward managed the revolution, yourself, 
Duroveray, and D’Yvernois, being the leaders. I 
then made the acquaintance of many whom I have 
since recognized as exiles, and with whom we 
consulted on the future of France, that country 
being important in reference to the stability of 
your free government, as well as for the liberty 
And why do these men withdraw 
from you and your cause? Have they become 
disloyal to their principles, and will they not be- 


of all Europe. 


tray and endanger our plans ? ” 
“No,” replied Claviére, “‘ they are not recreant, 


THE GENEVA FUGITIVES IN LONDON. 


but their discontent with the English government 
drives them away. It is, however, short-sighted- 
ness to give up a position because you cannot im- 
mediately gain personal advantage from it. It is 
true, we refugees have been here a long time, and 
cannot exactly catch the roast pigeons with which 
the ministry and cabinet of George III. allured us. 
It was promised to us, and to the whole demo- 
cratic party of our country, that we should found 
a new Geneva in Ireland, and settle there with all 
our manufactures, home-traffic, and industry, en- 
joying a safe refuge for our political and religious 
principles. The building of this new city, however, 
which we were led to expect would be a Zion of 
popular freedom, is still delayed. We would 
gladly work in laying the foundation if only a 
tract of land were allotted us for our colony. But 
this new Geneva as yet floats in the air—it is one 
of the phantoms of an English fog; thus we are 
discontented, doubting the sincerity of Great 
_Britain.” 

“That is wrong,” exclaimed Mirabeau, “ for 
when England allots money for a purpose, she is 
in earnest ; and have you not already a fund for 
your support, amounting to fifty thousand pounds 
sterling, intended expressly for the benefit of the 
first thousand immigrants from Geneva? You 
yourself, Claviére, in conjunction with Lord Gren- 
ville, are at the head of the distribution of this 
money; and, I may say, your financial talent and 
your political character are honored by your posi- 
tion. I should think that nothing could give you 

more confidence as to the intentions of this gov- 
ernment.” * 

“This fund is certainly in existence,” replied 
Claviére, “ and I am still one of the committee of 
management; but it will be used only for its orig- 
inal purpose when something more definite has 
been decided for the erection of our new home in 
Ireland. In the mean time, the money is used 
for different objects, mostly through the influence 





* Vide Soulavie, ‘‘Mémoires historiques et poli- 
tiques,”’ vol. v., p. 284, where the ‘* Acte du Gouverne- 
ment d’Angleterre, qui accorde cinquante mille livres 
sterling de secours aux six commissaires des bannis de 
Genéve et au parti revolutionnaire de cette répu- 
blique’’ (of April 4th, 1783), is completely detailed. 





75 


of the British minister of state, William Pitt. 
The English members of our management, who 
are in the majority, immediately executed the 
proposals of the prime minister, and we Gene- 
vans voted with them with the greatest pleasure. 
The first lord of the treasury desires the interest 
of this fund to be used, for the present, in set- 
tling premiums on distinguished men who would 
work, write, or fight, to propagate the idea that 
England is the true protector of political freedom, 
and also to deepen the hatred against France, as 
a state where despotism is generated and nursed. 
He sent a list of names to the committee through 
Lord Grenville, commencing with that of Count 
Mirabeau, who was mentioned with especial marks 
of esteem.” 

“Ts it possible?” exclaimed Mirabeau, in joy- 
ful surprise. ‘In this I recognize the wily Wil- 
liam Pitt. I have met him accidentally, and in a 
most adventurous manner, and had a conversa- 
tion with him, during which he rather scornfully 
repulsed me in my suggestions that from this 
country great influence could be exerted on the 
events of the times. In the face of all I said, he 
did not change his opinion, and while apparently 
checking me in order not to compromise himself, 
he excites the Geneva fund society, and absolutely 
accepts my proposals, and disposes of my talents. 
But what have you decided to do?” 

“T have been sent by my colleagues,” replied 
Claviére, emphatically, “and the real object of 
my visit to-day is to deliver to you in this pocket- 
book a bank-note of one hundred pounds ster- 
ling, with the respectful request to receive it as 
an acknowledgment of gratitude from the Geneva 
committee for your writings in favor of political 
liberty, and a petition that you would continue to 
exert your influence not only for our cause, but 
for that of all Europe.” 

“T take all you say and offer in the sense in 
which you tender it,” said the count, receiving 
the pocket-book with visible satisfaction, but 
throwing it on the table as if with supreme indif- 
ference. 

“You were always the defender of our repub- 
lic,’ continued Claviére, “and as formerly you 


76 


wielded your pen for us—when our aristocracy 
escaped destruction only by the assistance of 
French bayonets, and when you addressed a me- 
morial to the French minister Vergennes, showing 
in your impressive manner that the recall of 
these troops was an affair of honor for France * 
—so now labor for our Geneva—that is, kindle 
the indignation of the rest of Europe against 
your country.” 

“Yes, I love your Geneva!” exclaimed Mira- 
beau, enthusiastically, “and I shall be proud to 
serve your cause, which is also mine, and that of 
all patriots! I love your countrymen, so brave 
and enlightened, and who, by an unequalled as- 
siduity, have ennobled the little republic. Your 
watches, for example,- ticking in men’s pockets 
over the civilized world, tell of the conquests of 
your skill and industry—they not only announce 
the right hour of the day, but it is natural to fan- 
cy that they mark the right year of liberty for 
our age. The energy of your people will make 
the first practical assertion in Europe that the 
true government for man is one of freedom! Our 
great Voltaire, by the way, had an enthusiastic 
admiration ‘for your watch manufacture, pro- 
nouncing upon it, in his Ferney, the blessing of 
Are you not one of the first states 
of comparatively modern date that, even in the 
eleventh century, set the example of driving from 


a free spirit. 


your midst the aristocracy, with its princes and 
oppressors, and aimed at the establishment of 
the rights of man by a popular government ? 
Since that time you have passed your lives in po- 
litical commotion—one revolution after another 
you have attempted, brave men that you are. 
This whole century has been one continued strug- 
gle between the nobility and the people—between 
democracy and feudalism. The example on the 
shores of your beautiful lake has not been in vain 
—it has awakened other nations. The political 
books and pamphlets that sprang from your con- 
flicts vied with the works of our Montesquieu, 
Mably, and Voltaire, to educate the national spir- 
it, both in France and the rest of Europe ; to give 


COUNT MIRABEAU. 


anew impetus to the people; to undermine the 
old monarchical institutions, and place democracy 
in the front of all governments. It was from 
Geneva that the first note of popular liberty was 
sounded, and it will not be long before all that 
can move in France will answer it—nay, the 
whole world will arouse itself to the great duty 
of deliverance from despotic rulers. Believe me, 
your country will assist mine in the coming con- 
test. The same country that in your last effort 
forged your chains, defeating the people’s party 
with bayonets, and driving its chiefs into exile, 
Let that be 
your revenge against the French monarchy!” 
“France is the principal adversary of European 


will ascribe her elevation to you. 


liberty !” said Claviére, a sharp irony distorting 
his features. ‘ With her we must make a begin- 
ning, if our principles are to succeed. France, as 
she is, must be overthrown, and upon the ruins 
of her ancien régime must arise a nobler system 
than that of the aristocrats. This great resolu- 
tion, for it affects the future of Europe, the pop- 
ular party in Geneva took in 1782, when your 
Louis XVI. sent his troops against our republic 
(engaged as it was in civil war), to free the aris- 
tocracy we had imprisoned, and reward them for 
their secret attachment to him. Then the scales 
dropped from our eyes ; we were convinced that 
the French court had given orders to the govern- 
ment to suppress our democracy. The two par- 
ties in our country disagreed about the remodel- 
ling of our laws, and we soon saw that the in- 
fluence inimical to the people, forcing itself into 
our constitution, originated with the King of 
France and his minister M. de Vergennes. When 
we left the gates of Geneva behind us, on that 
first dark night of our exile, we took a terrible 
oath that we would carry the revolution into the 
heart of your country. By this oath we have be- 
come your fellow-citizens, Count Mirabeau, for we 
share the same patriotic labor.” * 

“We are fellow-citizens and brothers in the 
empire of freedom, Etienne Claviére ! ” exclaimed 
Mirabeau, with flashing eyes, embracing the Ge- 





* Montigny, “Mémoires de Mirabéau,” vol. iv., pp. 
114-139. 





* Soulavie, “‘ Mémoires historiques et politiques,” 
vol. v., p. 251. 


THE GENEVA FUGITIVES IN LONDON. 


nevan. “As to M. de Vergennes, he was the only 
French statesman that had a clear conception of 
the whole situation, and expressed even at that 
time the fear that the struggles in Geneva would 
be but the beginning of a subversion of existing 
governments in Europe! He therefore insisted 
on suppressing the liberal party in your country 
by armed force, and to him I consequently ad- 
dressed my memorial in your cause. I explained 
to him that the task of France ought to be that 
of succoring you, and of reconciling the parties 
in the republic ; for France, who had just shown 
herself the liberator of America, could not at the 
same time appear as the oppressor of Geneva! 
Such inconsistency would lower my country in 
the eyes of Europe. I was the first to point out 
of what importance the reception of the exiled 
patriots in a colony in Ireland might become. I 
painted in gorgeous colors the future of such a 
_ Settlement, that would give still greater power to 
the commerce of England by certain manufac- 
tures, so easily fostered in a land almost free 
I showed that several German 
monarchs, among them the King of Prussia, 
Frederick II., had made efforts to direct to their 
countries the migration of the Geneva democrats, 


from taxation. 


on account of their genius for the arts. I also 
pointed out that such settlements in any land 
would be refuges for all the discontented from 
But M. de 


Vergennes remained firm in his opinions, which, 


the different countries of Europe. 


I must own, were correct from his point of view, 
as ours were from our own. When I personally 
communicated with him, he merely said that the 
Geneva revolution was an epidemic disease which 
might invade France, and that was the idea on 
which he based his advice to the king.” * 

“It will always remain a grievance that France 
could not see of what consequence Geneva was 
to her interests,” replied Claviére, “if only as a 
mart for the commerce of the south with Switz- 
erland, Italy, and a large and important part of 
Germany. France has drawn profits of all kinds 
from us—from our industry, as well as from our 


————— 





* Soulavie, “‘ Mémoires,”’ vol. v., p. 250. 





77 


pecuniary resources. Did she not borrow one 
hundred millions from our republic during the 
administration of Necker, by means of which she 
was able to repair a considerable hole in her 
treasury? I will not mention that Geneva is the 
only military point by which France can be 
covered from the Rhone to the Mediterranean, 
preventing an invader from crossing the river. 
Would one not suppose that common-sense would 
lead your country to desire Geneva to be power- 
ful, populous, and flourishing? But the policy 
of the government had no such sense; it cannot 
comprehend now that my native land, becoming 
powerful, not only by agriculture, but by manufac- 
tures, requires for its development free institu- 
tions. And what folly to turn us over to her 
natural rival, that she may enrich herself by our 


industry! Whether the intentions of Great 


+ Britain are selfish or not, we owe her thanks, and 


more especially are we indebted to William Pitt, 
who, since his association with the ministry, has 
redoubled the hospitality bestowed on us. It will 
be the duty of Geneva, whatever may happen, to 
keep on good terms with England.” 
“Be friendly with Albion, but do not trust 


her!” exclaimed Mirabeau, violently. ‘She re- 
ceives fugitives only because at some future time 


You 
are now the whip with which she intends to pun- 
ish France—well, that is all right! 


she means to use them for her interests. 


You must 
settle your own accounts when the latter country 
is free and in union with you. Then, as a return 
to Geneva for having given birth to our Jean 
Jacques Rousseau, we can secure such freedom to 
you that your republic will be the fairest star in 
European democracy. You are men of thought, 
and, if we wish to save ourselves from the actual 
degradation of the epoch, we must not despise 
new conceptions of what ought to be. Jean 
Jacques Rousseau, in his ‘Contrat Social,’ first 
opened to us the golden gate which leads to polit- 
ical happiness. This is also the merit of Necker: 
the second genius from the same republic, who 
came to France to inoculate the dying monarchy 
with salutary ideas. However he may have failed 
in his financial administration (I am not, remem- 


78 


ber, one of his personal admirers), he has never- 
theless labored for a reformed France. He indi- 
cated his birthplace in the fact that he displayed 
his inventive powers, and believed that he ought 
to do so, as secretary of the treasury, and there- 
fore coined new money. Yes, Claviére, I also 


will belong to Geneva. Did not the words ‘sover- 


eignty of the people,’ and ‘the rights of man,’ 
originate there ? *—Here is a tribute, by the way, 
I bring to my adopted country. I have com- 
menced, you see, to write a history of Geneva.” 
Mirabeau took a manuscript from his desk, and 
handed it to his friend, who glanced at it in sur- 
prise. 

Just then an extraordinary noise was heard on 
the stairs, and the count, whose sense of hearing 
was very acute, thought he recognized Henriette’s 
voice, as if uttering groans and painful ejacula- 
tions. He rushed to the door, which was opened 
as he approached by Hardy, the secretary, upon 
whom Henriette was leaning. Mirabeau caught 
her in his arms, carrying her to the sofa, with 
expressions of sorrow. She was half unconscious, 
but, on noticing his presence, she opened her eyes, 
and a slight color suffused her countenance, which 
before was pale as death. She smiled, and told 
him that he must not be uneasy on her account. 
She was, however, still too weak to relate what 
had happened to her. 

All Mirabeau could learn from Hardy was, that 
having business to attend to in another part of 
the city, and passing through the street in which 
Christ’s Hospital is situated, he saw a crowd 
gathered before it, and among them Madame de 
Nehra, who was just fainting and falling on the 
pavement. Assisted by some persons near he 
took her to a carriage, fortunately standing in the 
neighborhood. On the way home she became 
unconscious, and recovered as he was taking her 
up the staircase, complaining of headache. 

Mirabeau immediately made an examination to 
see whether in falling she had hurt herself. Cla- 





* Soulavie, ‘‘ Mémoires historiques et politiques,” 
vol. v., pp. 249-282. In the letters of the Geneva dem- 
ocrats, Duroveray and D’Yvernois (about 1783), is first 
cited the expression “les droits des hommes.” 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


viére, proposing to go for a physician, departed. 
But Henriette declared that she had received no 
injury, and had entirely recruited her strength. 
“And what happened to you, my only love?” 
asked Mirabeau, kneeling before the sofa, and 
kissing Henriette’s hands with passionate anxiety. 
“T had executed my commission at Sir Gilbert 
“ He 
gave me the hundred guineas without hesitation, 
It is 
true, he again permitted himself to express over- 


Elliot’s successfully,” Henriette related. 
sending them to you with his compliments. 


whelming words of friendship, which almost 
caused me to return the money to him, if I had 
not remembered the purpose for which it was 
destined. I put the purse he gave me into my 
bosom. The same good fortune that had guided 
my steps to Sir Gilbert’s accompanied me on my 
return, until I arrived in the vicinity of Christ’s 
Hospital, where I found myself in the centre of a 
crowd before I was aware of it, on account of the 
dense fog. The countenances of those I noticed 
were any thing but agreeable, and their exclama- 
tions revealed fearful news. They spoke of a 
woman who had fallen in the street with symp- 
toms of the plague. She was carried into the 
hospital, and the peopled assembled, loudly and 
violently demanding that measures should be 
taken for the safety of the community. Some 
said that the building ought to be surrounded by 
troops; others that the hall into which the pa- 
tient had been carried should be walled up. 
Quite unexpectedly the report became current 
that three similar cases had occurred in another 
district of London, and that it was an incontro- 
vertible fact that the plague was again in the 
city.* A universal lamentation arose from the 
people, who shouted and swore terribly. I have 
never witnessed any thing so shocking. Over- 
come by an indescribable emotion of fear, the 
crowd seemed to me like spectres in the thick 
As 
Hardy raised me, I heard the exclamation: 
‘ Another victim ! Seated 


mist. I lost my self-possession and fell. 


She has the plague!’ 





* From the unpublished correspondence of Mirabeau 
with Madame de Nehra.—Vide Montigny, ‘‘ Mémoires 
de Mirabeau,”’ vol. iv., p. 151. 


THE GENEVA FUGITIVES IN LONDON. 


in the carriage, I had sufficient presence of mind 
to hand the purse to the secretary; but I still 
fancied I heard the cry resounding after me: ‘ Do 
not let her escape, she has the plague!’” 
Henriette was so exhausted by the recital 
of the dangers she had undergone, that her 
head fell back on the sofa. 
Hardy to bring restoratives, and at the same time 
deliver the purse which Madame de Nehra had 
intrusted to him. The secretary executed his 


Mirabeau requested 


commission, but, in reference to the money, he 
declared laconically that- he knew nothing about 
it, as Madame de Nehra had given him none. 
Mirabeau was startled, not knowing exactly what 
to think of the whole affair. But Henriette 
sprang up hastily, anger restoring her strength, 
and exclaimed: “What! You deny that I con- 
fided a purse to your care? Mirabeau, I often 
defended that gentleman when you entertained 
suspicions of his honesty. Now I must accuse 
‘him, if he continues to deny having received a 
hundred guineas from me.” 

Hardy burst into scornful laughter, turning 
from Mirabeau to Madame de Nehra with pro- 
voking insolence expressed in every feature of 
his defiant face. 

“ Wretch!” cried Mirabeau, with his temper 
aroused, and seizing him by the throat, “ you 
dare, in the presence of such testimony, to con- 
tinue in your denial even for one instant, and be- 
have so insolently? Kneel in the dust, you 
scoundrel, and make your wailing confession, 
just as a condemned spirit would make his in 
presence of an angel. Acknowledge what you 
have done with the money, if you are unable to 
Such a sum is no trifle with us at 
present, and we cannot afford to play hide-and- 
seek with it.” 

“T reiterate,” replied M. Hardy, in the most 
offensive manner, and without losing his self-con- 


return it! 


trol, “ that the countess did not even give me one 
hundred sous, much less the sum you name. Be- 
sides, I do not see how so much money could be- 
long to any of the family of Count Mirabeau. 
You demand a hundred guineas from me, and 
yet you owe me my salary for the current year. 





79 


I lent 
it you from my wardrobe, because yours was torn 


Why, sir, even the coat you wear is mine. 


and faded, and you had no means to have new 
clothes made. Have you ever paid me for it? 
You are my debtor, count, and you accuse me of 
theft !—you who do not really passess a decent 
coat to your back!” 

Mirabeau was for a moment perplexed. His 
cheeks burned red with shame, and his lips quiv- 
ered. He convulsively seized the coat, of which 
Hardy had so inconsiderately spoken, and seemed 
“T will 
deliver you over to the courts of justice,” he said, 


very much disposed to tear it to pieces. 
in a loud voice. “Here in England they have no 
great consideration for rogues of your description, 
If I find the money 
upon your person, I will content myself in dis- 
If 
you have disposed of it, I will deliver you to the 
constable, for whom I will immediately send.” 

As Hardy still denied any knowledge of the 
stolen property, voluntarily turning his pockets 
inside out, Mirabeau rang the bell, and ordered 


and you deserve the rope. 


missing you ignominiously from my service. 


the servant to bring a policeman. He soon ar- 
ranged matters, as it was sufficient for Count 
Mirabeau simply to charge a person in his ser- 
vice with theft, to have the accused at once ar- 
rested. ) 

After the secretary was led away, Mirabeau 
turned to Madame de Nehra with renewed and 
tender anxiety. The excitement which the last 
occurrence had caused did not improve her con- 
dition, and she appeared to be suffering. The 
physician whom Claviére had sent now entered. 
He soon announced that there was no danger, 
and that rest and a little nursing would soon re- 
store her. Henriette was, however, obliged to 
retire. Her only grief was, that the means ob- 
tained for her voyage to Paris were lost almost 
as soon as obtained. But Mirabeau went to his . 
desk with a triumphant air and brought her the 
pocket-book containing the bank-note he had re- 
He handed it to her, and 
with surprise she listened to the story of its pos- 
session. 


ceived from Claviére. 


“ Now I am content, Mirabeau,” she said, look- 


80 


ing joyfully at him. “ Believe me, I am already 
quite well, and I shall be able to depart to-mor- 
row, to prepare a home for you in Paris, and free 
you from your fetters !” 

“To-day you must rest and sleep,” said Mira- 
beau, kissing her. “You are, my dear child, as 
charming as courageous. Your beauty would 
raise you to the highest rank in society, if you 
did not prefer to remain at my side, blessing me 
with your love, and aiding me in the struggles 
of my life! There must necessarily be a Supreme 
Intelligence and a Supreme Good, say what we 
may, and that will reward you, and all like you, 
for benevolence and self-denial. In the depth of 
your soul’s secrecy, do you not think so, Henri- 


ette? And now, good-night!” 


CHAPTER X. 
THE ARCADES OF THE PALAIS-ROYAL, 


On her arrival in Paris, Henriette scarcely gave 
herself time to have her trunks taken to an hdéel 
garni and hire a small room. Thinking only of 
Mirabeau and his affairs, she changed her travel- 
ling-dress in great haste, and, not permitting her- 
self to take either rest or refreshment, she was 
again in the street on her way to the residence 
of Chamfort, to demand the assistance of this 
tried friend, according to Mirabeau’s arrangement. 
With swift feet she reached the Hétel Vaudreuil, 
in the Rue de Bourbon. , Feeling herself sus- 
tained by her resolution and courage, she needed 
no protection, beyond her own probity, to attempt 
any thing in the performance of what she consid- 
ered her duty. 

At the palace of the Marquis de Vaudreuil, 
Henriette experienced the first disappointment 
since the commencement of her mission, in which 
every thing hitherto had succeeded to her wishes. 
The porter standing at the door rudely repulsed 


her inquiry, telling her that the house now be-. 


longed to another family, to whom the marquis 
had sold it, and that M. Chamfort occupied a 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


small dwelling in the Arcades of the Palais-Royal 
She repressed the momentary sigh forced from her 
by fatigue, and, making a cheerful effort, con- 
tinued her walk, soon reaching the quarter where 
she bad been told she would find the domicile of 
Chamfort. These galleries had lately been built 
by the Duke de Chartres, around the gardens of 
his palace. They arose from his avarice, and 
were rented not only for dwellings, stores, and 
literary cabinets, but for halls of questionable 
amusement, such as gambling-rooms, drinking- 
shops, and dens of all iniquity, 

The houses opposite to the Palais-Royal for- 
merly possessed greater value on account of the 
unobstructed view of the gardens, and the ready 
entrance by those living in the adjacent dwellings, 
The property had therefore considerably depre- 
ciated, and the proprietors questioned by law the 
right of the duke to build the Arcades. All 
France was interested in a process which so deep- 
ened the well-founded indignation against the 
prince, that public utterance was given to it; but 
the decisions of the courts were in his favor. 
And yet in these new buildings all the vice of 
Paris was nurtured and developed without fear of 
interference, that being the principal object in 
their construction—an idea suggested by the mer- 
cenary disposition of the prince. 

Madame de Nehra walked up and down these 
crowded arcades, making numberless inquiries 
At last 
she received the desired information in a reading- 
Her heart 
beat violently as she ascended the staircase lead- 


before she found him whom she sought. 
room in which Chamfort was known. 


ing to the entresol looking upon the Rue Riche- 
lieu, in which she was told he lived. Her anxiety 
arose from a certain reluctance she always felt on 
meeting one of Mirabeau’s friends, and which time 
had not been able to remove. Free and unem- 
barrassed as she generally felt herself in the in 
nocence of her heart, at such moments she was 
deeply conscious of the only false step of her 
life; afterward, finding herself treated with sin- 
cere esteem, she regained her sense of security 
and ease.. Then could she speak of her relation 
with Mirabeau in burning words, and give ex- 


THE ARCADES OF THE PALAIS-ROYAL. 


pression to her enthusiasm for the object of her 
love. 

Timidly she knocked. Chamfort himself opened 
the door, and her eye fell on his mild, quiet coun- 
tenance. His melancholy features brightened, 
and he expressed the most undoubted friendli- 
ness. He conducted her to an easy-chair oppo- 
site him, and seemed so surprised and uncertain 
that he looked at her silently for some time, al- 
though in such a manner as to awaken her confi- 
dence. 

Henriette immediately perceived, with feminine 
penetration, that Chamfort seemed to be doubtful 
as to the continuation of her union with Mira- 
beau, and therefore questioned her in a very re- 
served manner. This almost inclined her to 
burst into laughter, but she was restrained by 
the thought of the grave purpose for which she 
was in Paris. Hastening to inform him of the 
real object of her mission, and explaining what 
-was necessary in order to procure an honorable 
and safe return of Mirabeau to his native coun- 
try, she fluently described her plan, the first step 
being the delivery of the memorial Mirabeau had 
written in reference to his life and situation ; this 
she must give personally into the hands of the 
minister of the royal house, Baron de Breteuil. 
She then added, that she was commissioned to de- 
mand the assistance of Chamfort’s tried friend- 
ship in obtaining an audience of the minister, in 
which the close connection existing between the 
former and the Marquis de Vaudreuil would be 
of material importance, 

“Chamfort, after a moment’s silence, replied: 
“Of course I shall procure an interview for you 
with the baron, and, if it suits you, we shall go 
to-morrow morning to Versailles for that purpose. 
But my good De Vaudreuil will be of little ser- 
vice to us on account of many considerations. 
My noble friend is himself in disgrace. The repre- 
sentation at his palace of the ‘Wedding of Figa- 


ro’ made him enemies at court, and he has been 


blamed as being the cause of the public perform- 

ance of this wretched comedy, having declared 

it purified from the poison which it still retained. 

He did not obtain the position as governor of the 
6 





81 


Dauphin, which he eagerly sought, and he is al- 
most in despair, although there is no necessity 
for him to trouble himself about such trifles. He 
sold his mansion in the Rue de Bourbon, because 
his magnificent halls daily reminded him of that 
fatal evening, and this also was the cause of the 
change of my residence. The marquis had pur- 
chased a more splendid dwelling, offering me, in 
the most obliging manner, a home in it; but I 
seized the opportunity to become independent 
again, explaining to him that this separation was 
necessary for the better prolongation of our 
friendship. Thus we parted, but are still the 
best of friends.* That is why you find me in 
the Arcades of the Palais-Royal, where I have 
located my philosophic hermitage, for I hope 
good purposes.” 

At these words Henriette, for the first time, 
glanced around the room, observing that Cham- 
fort had accurately described it. The arrange- 
ments in this apartment and an adjoining cabinet 
were very simple; nothing was contained in them 
but what was absolutely necessary. Before a 
small decayed lounge stood a diminutive table, 
Notwith- 
standing the twilight in the room, occasioned by 


serving both as desk and bookcase. 


the curtains being drawn over the low windows, 
Henriette thought she perceived a completely ex- 
hausted inkstand, causing her to smile, as she 
thought of Mirabeau’s frequent lamentations at 
the fewness of Chamfort’s letters, and that one 
of the most distinguished minds found so little 
pleasure in work. On the other hand, small 
scattered leaves lay about on the table, covered 
with writing in lead-pencil, on which Chamfort 
wrote his celebrated ideas and reflections, often 
expressing great truths with wonderful brevity 
While this dwelling was quite 
retired, and really appeared like a hermitage, the 
peace of its studious inhabitant must have been 
disturbed by the tumult of the world about him,. 
the hum of voices, the rattling of dominoes and 


and poignancy. 


billiard-balls, the ringing of the money in the 
gambling-houses, and the cries of those who_pro- 





* “Notice sur la Vie de Chamfort’? (Guvres de 
Chamfort, vol. i., ch. xliii.). 


82 


claimed the curiosities and amusements to be 
found in the neighboring halls. 

“Yes,” said Chamfort, “is it not strange, that 
accident has led me into the very dragon’s den of 
Paris? Yet I feel comfortable here, and the 
louder this clamor is, the better can I indulge my 
thoughts as to the future of France. Often, as I 
stand at my window, I hear many a word that 
affects me, proving how strong the public politi- 
cal feeling is in this city. I overhear long and 
excited conversations in the café underneath my 
apartments, and I fancy that many people come 
here regularly at an appointed time to exchange 
opinions about the court and ministers. I hear 
many a true word from my philosophic watch- 
tower, and I know that the time is not far distant 
when my friends and I, who are almost suffocating 
from the weight of our reflections, may descend 
into the streets as practical men, and preach 
liberty from every lamp-post! And all this we 
should credit to this blessed Duke de Chartres, 
who by his speculation has concentrated all the 
fermenting iniquity of this city, and thereby given 
us an insight of our real condition. It is said to 
be the chief object of the prince io make these 
buildings notorious as the focus of all that is in- 
famous in the capital, and to open an extensive 
market for it.* There is a secret and almost 
fabulous reign of orgies in his palace, in which 
he is both lord and servant; and, in addition, he 
desires to found a public rendezvous of vice of 
every description. Another report about this 
prince, who regards money as the highest good, 
is, that he levies a certain amount of special 
taxes on all occupying his buildings.” 

Chamfort was continuing to explain the char- 
acter of the neighborhood, and to indulge in his 
accustomed satire, when he observed Madame de 
Nehra leaning her head back with every sign of 
complete exhaustion, her brow and cheeks so pale 


as to suggest a fainting-fit, He quickly ap- 


proached to assist her, but she reopened her eyes,. 


smiling languidly. After drawing back the cur- 
tains and opening the windows, he returned, re- 





* Soulavie, ‘‘Mémoires historiques et politiques,” 
vol. ii., p. 108. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


garding her long in order to discover the cause 
“Poor child,” 
he then said, in a voice of great sympathy, “I 


and remedy of her indisposition. 


comprehend why you are so weak. You may 
consider what I am about to say ridiculous, but 
it is necessary—I faney you have eaten little or 
nothing during the past twenty-four hours. Am 

I right in my conjecture ?” 

Henriette nodded, and a blush colored for a 
moment her pale cheeks. 

“Yes, that is what ails you,” continued Cham- 
fort. 
acters who could starve while occupied for the 
benefit of others, and take no rest until their 


**T know you are one of those noble char- 


loving efforts succeed. But the physical organi- - 
zation does not always support this heroism. 
Food and drink are necessary. Wherefore do I 
live in the Arcades of the Palais-Royal but to 
offer my services to you? Let me arrange mat- 
ters for your benefit. I have a machinery here 
such as can scarcely be imagined in a fairy-tale. 
Two pulls at this bell-wire, which reaches to the 
kitchen attached to the café below, and the story 
of Roland’s table-cloth is satisfactorily fulfilled. 
An active waiter hurries up, prepares the table, 
and my little dinner is eaten quickly and content- 
edly. On this day the graces will be present, if 
Madame de Nehra accepts my invitation, and for 
such a festival more worthy preparations must 
be made. 
for a few minutes.” 


Allow me, therefore, to absent myself 


Henriette urgently entreated him not to take 
any trouble on her account, adding that she felt 
much better, and would return to her hotel ‘to 
take dinner. But Chamfort would not listen to 
her objections, leaving the room and soon return- 
ing, accompanied by a waiter, who began his 
preparations in the middle of the apartment, 
while Chamfort took a rosebush blooming at his 
window, and placed it in the centre of the table, 
that it might not be entirely wanting in ornament. 
He cut off one of the freshest of the flowers, 
placing it near the cover intended for Madame de 
Nehra, and leading her to a chair with his usual 
politeness. 

“ You ought to have a branch of laurel placed 


THE ARCADES OF THE PALAIS-ROYAL. 


there for you,” he said, when seated opposite her. 
“You deserve it, for magnanimity is of greater 
value than genius. You have crossed the ocean 
alone, in your youth,and beauty, to work for your 
friend in this vile and selfish city ; and does not a 
brave love merit the crown of honor? But lau- 
rels never would flourish in my household, and I 
have not a single leaf to offer you. Those I 
gained as a poet are withered; they could not 
thrive together with political wormwood.” 

The dinner was served, and the philosopher 
played the host very creditably, encouraging his 
guest and waiting on her so gracefully that Ma- 
dame de Nehra felt perfectly secure and comfort- 
able. Her natural cheerfulness soon returned, 
and the true friendly feeling existing from the 
moment Mirabeau introduced them to each other, 
found expression in hearty and confiding words. 
The kindliness of Chamfort’s manner, notwith- 
standing his satirical expressions, enchanted those 
who associated with him. In the present instance 
it was the more remarkable, as he felt it a duty 
to treat one in her lonely situation with more re- 
spect than he was in the habit of paying to most 
ladies. He was especially pleased to notice his 
success in encouraging Madame de Nehra to re- 
cruit her strength. A glass of wine was drunk 
in honor of the absent friend who was sad and 
solitary in London—a toast Chamfort proposed 
with great enthusiasm, and to which Henriette 
could not refuse to respond. 

“ But we must not forget what we owe to Mira- 
beau,” said Henriette, looking gravely at Cham- 
fort. 
me here, of course permit of no delay; but as it 


“The affairs concerning which he has sent 


would be of no use to go to Versailles to-day, I 
am satisfied to leave it until to-morrow. What 
means are we to employ? What success can we 
expect? You see I am urgent.” 

“T have not ceased for a moment reflecting 
about it,” replied Chamfort. ‘But I think it is 
of more importance for Madame de Nehra to 
occupy herself quietly with these cdfelettes aux 
fines herbes, and await the results of my mental 
review of all my friends and patrons at court. 


One of them will undoubtedly do us the favor of 





83 


speaking a good word to the Minister Breteuil, 
and procure us an audience; but I confess that 
precisely the right person has not yet occurred to 
me. Although, by a curious concatenation of 
events, I have had relationship with these people, 
and a real friendship with some of them, it was 
my mishap somehow to have disagreements, and 
a subsequent estrangement. It is true, 1 have 
often enjoyed the charm of their society, yet I 
could never forget that they are the people who 
have caused all the political and social trouble in 
France, and will finally effect their own ruin. It 
is well, for by their unspeakable follies and ex- 
travagance despotism will be overthrown. I 
carried my frankness so far as to give them ad- 
vice, which, of course, they did not follow; but 
since I lately prophesied their approaching de- 
struction, which I was ingenuous enough to do, 
their confidence has ceased, and the utmost I 
could obtain from them was, that they would not 
hate me. 


wise pleasant residence in the Hétel Vaudreuil.” 


This is also the history of my other- 


“« Alas,” exclaimed Henriette, sighing, ‘“ where 
then are the hopes we placed in you? Mirabeau 
reckoned on your influence at court, who, as he 
always said, were so blinded as never to observe 
that you only considered them as a study of all 
that is corrupt.” 

“Those aristocrats are too well educated to 
betray any feeling,” replied Chamfort, laughing. 
“ They are capable of dancing a minuet with their 
enemy, and without once missing a step. They 
play and trifle with their opponent as long as 
possible, to persuade him and themselves that he 
really does belong to their party, and may be 
worthy of bearing their train, In this way the 
fashionable world amused itself a long time with 
that dangerous book of Helvetius ‘On the Mind ;’ 
it lay on the toilet-table of the high-born ladies, 
and no one wished to see the serpent. lying be- 
neath the flowers. Who, besides, were the col- 
porteurs of Voltaire’s blasphemous and at the 
same time democratic witticisms ? Were not the 
great men of Europe—even kings and princes— 
the first to glorify him? The death of Diderot, 
last year, was bewailed most in the fashionable 


84 


society of Paris, and his funeral celebrated with 
sincere mourning.* The last time I saw him was 
at the Hétel Vaudreuil as a spectator of the ‘ Wed- 
ding of Figaro,’ on that memorable evening when 
Madame de Nehra was carried off by Count Mira- 
beau, during the representation of the comedy. 
Oh, the mansion of a marquis is useful in many 
respects in these days! By means of the aristo- 
crats we are fast drifting into the epoch of lib- 
erty. Without them it would be but a popular 
dream. The nobility aided in destroying the peo- 
ple to set up a throne, and now, as the real advo- 
catt diaboli of society, they urge the people to 
overturn that throne.” 

The dinner was over, and Chamfort lost him- 
self in his own thoughts, as he often did. Sud- 
denly he sprang up, exclaiming with a laugh: 
“ Am I not a fool? I quite forgot that two days 
ago I was nominated as a kind of reader or sec- 
This interest- 


ing young lady has taken a great fancy to my 


retary to the Princess Elizabeth ! 


_ attempts at poetry, and has promoted me to this 
honorable position in her household, although I 
hope I shall seldom be called on to do much. 
She has ordered me, however, to write a com- 
mentary on La Fontaine’s fables, and I have 
commenced this work.+ I will go and read my 
introduction to her, which I have attempted to 
write very carefully. She is in the eity to-day, at 
the house which the king, her brother, lately 
bought for her in the Avenue de Paris, and in 
which she is to reside until her twenty-fifth year, 
that is, fer five years: but who knows whether 
any house in Paris will then occupy the spot it 
does now ? However, I will beg of her a favorable 
word for Mirabeau. The king is very fond of her, 
and she may perhaps have the proscription with- 
drawn that hangs over the head of our friend. 
The first chamberlain of the princess is also 
brother-in-law to the minister, Baron de Breteuil, 





* Diderot died on the 3ist of July, 1'784. 

+ Chamfort’s commentary on La Fontaine, one of 
his most brilliant and delicate works, was in the library 
of the Princess Elizabeth, bound in manuscript, but was 
Jost in the revolutionary storms that overtook her. It 
can hardly be doubted that it is still somewhere in ex- 
istence.—Vide ‘ Biographie universelle,’”’ by Cham- 
fort. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


and I will ask him for a few lines, by means of 
which you will gain an immediate interview at - 
Versailles to-morrow. That will do, and I hope 
for the best.” 

Henriette pressed his hand in the most earnest 
manner, and her eyes beamed with gratitude. 
They made arrangements for the next day, when 
Chamfort was to accompany her to Versailles. 
She left for her hotel, while he hastened to be 
announced at Madame Elizabeth’s palace. 


CHAPTER XI. 
THE QUEEN’S DIAMONDS. 


Cuamrort came for Madame de Nehra at the 
appointed time on the following morning, entering 
with her the post-chaise running from Paris to 
Versailles. He was in good-humor, and expected 
that they would be successful, in consequence of 


the promise he had received from. the Princess 


‘Elizabeth, as well as the recommendatory note — 


for Madame de Nehra addressed to the minister 
of the royal house, M. de Breteuil. The four 
leagues were soon passed over, and the travellers, 
after leaving the carriage, stood together on the 
Place d’Armes, that extended before the castle 
of the kings of France. Henriette was seized 
with trembling fear, and begged Chamfort, whose 
arm she had taken, to delay a few moments, be- 
fore they approached the principal gate. 

“A person is apt to lose his breath, when he’ 
beholds before him this enormous structure!” 
said Chamfort. ‘‘It is the eighth wonder of the 
world; it is said to be the admiration of all who 
see it, and is considered the largest and most im- 
posing palace in existence. Even the Asiatic des- 
pots could never boast of such magnificence, and 
our Louis XIV., who made this edifice what it is, 
has here, as in every thing else, shown himself 
the master-architect of a despotic era. His suc- 
cessors have in these apartments done honor as 
well as they could to his principles. The present 


proprietor is somewhat better than his race, and 


THE QUEEN’S DIAMONDS. 


that is a bad sign, for history teaches that the 
sins of a lineage are usually visited upon the com- 
paratively innocent. Looking at Versailles from 
this stand-point it makes the impression of an 
immense theatre. The manner in which the 
ground rises, and the grandeur of the buildings 
with their court-yards, give just such a perspec- 
tive. 
been turned into comedy in this place. 


And in fact every thing dear to nations has 
Now, my 
dear friend, let us proceed boldly, entering into 
the midst of this pomp with a sense of our own 
self-respect ; do not permit mere outward splen- 
dor to disturb the probity and tranquillity of our 
own hearts.” 

Chamfort again offered his arm to his compan- 
ion, and, passing inside the gilt railing that 
bounds the outer circle of the castle, entered the 
first crescent-shaped court-yard, rising like a gla- 
cis toward the edifice. Here they beheld the 
four large pavilions in which the ministers and 
- secretaries generally resided. The Swiss senti- 
nels in this court pointed out to Chamfort the 
» abode of the minister of the royal house; but the 
Baron de Breteuil was not at home, having been 
called to the cabinet of the king. They were 
advised to go to the gallery of the castle, and 
there address the minister, as was often done, on 
his return from the royal presence. Passing into 
the palace, they believed that some remarkable 
event must have occurred to explain the commo- 
tion they were witnessing. The servants and offi- 
cials stood in groups in the corridors and ante- 
chambers, anxiously whispering, and from time 
to time uttering loud ejaculations. 

At their entrance into the large court-yard, 
Henriette and her companion had noticed an 
equipage, which Chamfort at once recognized as 
belonging to his eminence Prince-Cardinal de 
_ Rohan. The philosopher and poet had a peculiar 
facility for reaching the meaning of affairs about 
him, and he was soon able to inform his friend 
that the cardinal had arrived half an hour ago in 
the king’s cabinet, haying been sent for by his 
majesty. 

“Something strange is occurring in the royal 
abode, believe me,” he said, comically looking up 





85 


as if he expected to make some discovery. ‘“‘ Any 
one accustomed to the air of Versailles, must be 
competent to ascertain in the courts of the palace 
whether there is any thing unusual in the tem- 
perature—whether any strange ingredient has en- 
tered among the elements of the atmosphere. I 
fancy, at least, that it is possible for me to attain 
this faculty, although the honor of my acquaint- 
ance with the court has always been through 
others, and therefore my olfactory organs are by 
no means sufficiently cultivated to make such 
nice discriminations. But to-day I am certain 
that something is wrong—some failure, may be, 
of royal favor; or perhaps some financial embar- 
rassment preceding the bankruptcy of the state. 
The Baron de Breteuil and the Prince-Cardinal de 
Rohan, as all Paris knows, are sworn enemies, 
and if these two have an audience together in the 
cabinet of the king, the question must be about 
an extremely involved business, and I expect 
something amusing.” 

“May not this be unfavorable to us?” asked 
Henriette, anxiously, as they proceeded through 
the gorgeous range of anterooms, unobstructed 
by the lackeys, whose attention was engaged. At 
last they reached the Hall of War, on the walls 
of which France and Bellona were painted, and 
where hung trophies and military decorations of 
all kinds, as well as representations of some of 
the heroic actions during the reign of Louis XIV. ; 
through this they gained the large gallery, open- 
ing before them in its surprising beauty. 

“Tt will depend on the state of affairs in the 
palace of Versailles,” replied Chamfort, standing 
at the entrance of the gallery, and glancing along 
it with his criticising eye. ‘“ From all I can hear, 
the minister, M. de Breteuil, is more intent than 
ever in ruining Cardinal de Rohan, or at least 
preparing for him a discomfiture endangering his 
life. Since yesterday Paris has been full of the 
strangest reports, that I had forgotten, until I saw 
the equipage of Prince de Rohan. If the latter 
cannot prove his innocence in this bad business 
ascribed to him, Breteuil will be beside himself 
with joy, and while in that humor he will grant 
all we ask. At court, to gain your object, you 


86 COUNT 


must always regard the lucky color that happens 
to be fashionable for the day.” 

Henriette and her friend continued their walk 
through the gallery, containing seventeen enor- 
mous windows, and as many arcades with their 
stupendous mirrors. Their position was so inge- 
niously contrived that they had a magical effect 
in reflecting, the park behind the palace, which 
could be seen in its whole extent from this apart- 
ment, thus affording a charming coup-d’ cil. 

“We shall have to wait here for some time,” 
said Chamfort. 
statues standing in this niche, one of which is a 
We have a 
complete view of all that may occur in the gal- 


“Let us rest by the two antique 
Germanicus, the other a Venus. 


lery ; for on that side are the state-rooms and cab- 
inet of the king, and on this the apartments of 
the queen. We can miss nothing, and in the 
mean time we can admire the paintings of Le 
Brun, in which he has represented a part of the 
history of the great Louis XIV. But are we in 
a condition of mind to enjoy all this magnifi- 
cence? As far as the eye reaches you see nothing 
but trophies and goddesses of war, among them a 
few sutyrs, and every possible interstice crowded 
with crowns, suns, lilies, and insignias of various 
kinds. 
of the earlier campaigns of the great king are 


Even in the velvet tapestry the triumphs 


inwoven. It was wise to write history in this 
way, but the display is greater than the facts—a 
pompous egotism has obscured the simple truth. 
The ‘?état c’est mot’ was only a boast after all. 
And how do you feel affected at all this, my mus- 
ing Madame de Nehra ?” 

“ Nothing here inspires me with confidence, es- 
pecially in reference to our cause,” replied Hen- 
riette, glancing sadly at the splendor around her. 
I do not comprehend how we can arouse sym- 
pathy for such a man as Mirabeau in such a 
place.” 

“Sympathy ?” replied Chamfort, laughing al- 
most too loud. ‘‘ Really, Henriette, you are the 
first noble mind that ever sighed for such a senti- 
ment in the gallery of Versailles. In the region 
where we are now, all calculate on accident, and 


must know how to turn it to account. If that 





MIRABEAU. Pa) 


were not the case, I would not have ventured to 
come here in the interest of our friend. He has 
again given umbrage of a very hateful kind, as 
the Princess Elizabeth gave me plainly to under- - 
stand, when I saw her yesterday at her palace. 
The ministry suspect him of trying to operate in 
England against France, and accuse him of being 
in the secret pay of Great Britain, as well as in 
collusion with the revolutionary Geneva refugees 
now in London. Our diplomatic spies have fer- 
reted out all this and sent in their reports. Yet 
he has friends at this court, and Madame Eliza- 
beth is one of them. She expressed to me the 
very judicious thought that talents like those of 
Count Mirabeau ought to be gained over to the 
interest of France. That is the reason we came 
here, although we must acknowledge that we are 
at present merely waiting for an uncertain oppor- 
tunity. If we fail in an interview with the min- 
ister, we return without accomplishing our pur- 
pose, notwithstanding the favor and wise sugges- 
tions of Madame Elizabeth. It is quite a revolu- 
tionary idea of this little princess to attach any 
man of genius to the interests of this country. 
France, as it is at present, requires no talents and 
never will, until completely overturned. A man 
of genius can now domo other service to his native 
land than to aid her in occupying a new position, 
and I consider it one of the most wonderful signs | 
of the times that such a thought should occur to 
a princess of France.” é : 

Madame de Nehra looked at him uneasily, for 
the sound of his imprudent words was passing 
along the polished marble walls to the doors of — 
the king’s apartments. He also became aware 
that Henriette’s gestures for him to cease talk- 
ing were timely, for several officers of the body- 
guard stood at the extreme end of the gallery, 
apparently for a certain purpose, among whom he 
recognized the captain of the guard, Duke de 
Villeroi, whom Chamfort had often met at the 
house of the Marquis de Vaudreuil, and who al- 
ways seemed to take special pleasure in conver- 
sing with the poet. 

The duke scarcely saw Chamfort when he hast- 
ened toward him with all his accustomed polite- 


- 


THE QUEEN’S DIAMONDS. 


ness, greeting him and asking if he could be of 
service to him. “In truth,” added the young 
duke, smiling, and gallantly bowing to Madame 
de Nehra, “you owe it to the enviable circum- 
stance of being in the company of so beautiful a 
lady, that I did not immediately command you to 
leave this gallery. I have been sent here by the 
Baron de Breteuil with strict orders to clear this 
part of the palace of visitors. You arrive at 
Versailles when very strange things are happen- 
ing, M. de Chamfort.” 

“T am not curious,” replied Chamfort, quietly. 
“Zt is dangerous for us of the lower classes to 
know the secrets of the great. We only desire 
to have an audience with M. de Breteuil, in an 
affair concerning this lady, Madame de N. ehra ; 
and if the Duke de Villeroi, with his usual amia- 
bility, will assist us in our object, he would render 
us greatly obliged to him.” 

‘When you can see the minister it is impossi- 


ble to say at this moment,” answered the young 
‘captain of the guard, mysteriously. “But I beg 


you and Madame de Nehra to step into this hall, 
parallel with the king’s large apartments. As 
: f. de Breteuil 
You cannot remain in the 


soon as practicable, I will info 
of your presence. 
gallery, for my comrades have received the same 
orders as myself, and we’ must obey. It is only 


_ owing to the consternation of the attendants of 


the palace that you were rte i, enter the 
public.” 
Chamfort gave his arm to Madame de Nehra, 


place, which is to-day forbidden to 


to conduct her to the apartment pointed out to 
them. He remained standing at the door to con- 
verse with the Duke de Villeroi. 

“Tell me, duke,” said Chamfort, “in what 
quality is the cardinal at present in the cabinet 
of the king?” 

» “Without doubt as grand-almoner of his ma- 
jesty,” observed the duke, evasively. ‘He ar- 
rived about an hour ago, to attend to his official 
functions—at least that is the general opinion. 
A half hour after, M. de Breteuil sent a special 
order to my comrade Count d’Agout, several 
other officers, and myself, to repair to this gallery 
and await further commands. The cardinal seems 





87 


to have been arrested in the king’s cabinet, and 
the queen has left her apartments also for those 
of his majesty.” 

* Ah,” replied Chamfort, “the queen’s presence 
is doubtless very necessary in the affair, for the 
Marie An- 
toinette is very fond of them, but latterly has 
had much trouble on their account.” 


question is certainly about diamonds. 


“What, you know something about the mat- 
ter?” exclaimed the captain of the guard, in the 
greatest astonishment; and added, in an under- 
tone: ‘‘ All sorts of reports are whispered about 


-in Versailles, in reference to some diamond orna- 


ments with which the queen is associated, and. 
about which the) Cardinal de Rohan is 
have acted very equivocally. The king w 


to 





er 


known to be so-excited and angry before as he is 
to-day.” 

“This secret, then, only now comes to light at 
Versailles,” said Chamfort, with a gloomy smile. 
“T have no doubt that you know all the rumors 
in Paris. They do not spare the queen, and 
therefore I refrain from remarking about them in 
this place.” . 

“Tt seems you Parisians are better informed 
than, we who dwell at the fountain-head of 
events,” said the captain of the guard, fixing his 
eyes keenly on Chamfort. 

“You are precisely in the condition of many 
persons in the immediate vicinity of a water- 
fall. They really hear little of it, and it is only 
on removing some distance that they perceive any 
noise at all. At Paris we have the sharpest and 
It is 
well known that the queen has been in great 


surest ear for all that occurs at Versailles. 


alarm for some time about a diamond necklace, 
which the crown-jeweller Béhmer made, valued 
The 
diamond-loving queen, however, is said to have 


at one million six hundred thousand franes. 


refused this expensive jewelry several years ago, 
conjuring the king not to urge him to accept it at 
a time when there was so much suffering in the 
country. Notwithstanding, it is said (understand 
me, I am speaking only of the corrupt and profli- 
gate Parisians) that the diamond necklace by 
some means did come into the possession of 


88 


Marie Antoinette—that an unknown friend of the 
queen, having in view her favor, became surety 
for the purchase-money, and even paid some of 
the instalments. 
more imagination than funds, or he did not trust 


But this mysterious friend had 


in the curious bargain he had made.. He did not 
pay regularly, and Boéhmer began to make trou- 
ble, complaining of various persons of the court. 
So much they know at Paris, and it is natural 
that malicious additions should be made, espe- 
cially sullying the reputation of the lovely queen. 
The real intrigante in this fraud is said to be an 
adventurous Countess Lamotte, and Marie An- 
toinette is accused of secret collusion with this 
wo by whose means the Cardinal de Rohan— 
for he is the generous admirer of the queen—was 
enticed into this dangerous adventure.” 

“Let us speak of these things another time,” 
said the Duke de Villeroi, looking anxiously tow- 
ard the door leading into the king’s cabinet. 
“You are aware of my sentiments,” he added, 
with a stealthy glance, shaking Chamfort’s hand, 
and then returning to his post. 

“These young nobles fancy themselves in op- 
position to the government,” said Chamfort to 
his companion. “But in reality they are seized 
with fear and trembling as soon as they hear a 
downright word touching their courtly relations. 
It amused me to embarrass the duke on that 
point.” 

An extraordinary noise was heard in the gal- 
lery. The door leading to the king’s apartments 
was violently thrown open, and the voices of 
those emerging from them became audible. 
Chamfort, with Madame de Nehra, retiring near 
the door of the side-hall, could see what was to 
take place. He recognized the Baron de Bre- 
teuil, who appeared first and in great excitement, 
beckoning to the two captains of the guard, the 
Duke de Villeroi, and the Count d’Agout. Be- 
hind the minister came the Cardinal de Rohan, 
dressed in the robes of his ecclesiastical and 
princely dignities ; but in his countenance could 
be noticed traces of intense anxiety. 

“Follow me, as his majesty has decided!” 
said Breteuil, in a harsh voice, to the cardinal, 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


who, at sight of the guard, stood perplexed and 
helpless, glancing at the minister in an uncertain 
and questioning manner. The tall, elegant figure 
of the cardinal swayed and trembled. The un- 
accustomed position in which he found himself, 
seemed to have so . him, that he was not 
capable of reflecting or resolving, but resigned 
himself to whatever disposition might be made 
of him. 

M. de Breteuil delivered the cardinal into the 
hands of the Duke de Villeroi, to whom the for- 
The duke offered 


his arm respectfully to M. de Rohan, leading him 


mer whispered a few words, 


away a few steps, and giving him in charge of 
the Count d’Agout and a sub-lieutenant of dra- 
goons, who received him in military style. 

“To the Bastille!” cried the minister, in a 
shrill, exulting voice, looking after them with an 
indescribable expression of triumph. 

“To the Bastille!” repeated the Duke de Vil- 
leroi, and the walls of the gallery echoed the 
When the cardinal beard them, 
he raised both arms to heaven with a beseeching 


dreadful words. 


and terrified gesture, and nearly fell. in weakness 
and agony; but the guard supported him, and he 
quickly disappeared. 

“In fact, the princely ‘churchman is borne 
away by a military escort!” said Chamfort, in 
“The handsome Prince Louis 
What! Dare the 
police of despotism stretch its arm toward the 


his astonishment. 
is dragged to the Bastille! 


scarlet mantle and red hat of the cardinal ? 
Signs and wonders seem to take place in broad 
daylight. 
mené, is also an illustrious scion of the former 


His eminerce, Prince de Rohan-Gue- 


sovereign lords of Bretagne; if such men are 
sent to that fearful prison, an altar will be erect- 
ed there for other victims, and the lesson taught 
of the abolishment of differences of rank. The 
king will have the honor of having founded the 
worship of equality in France.” 

Chamfort and Madame de Nehra again entered 
the gallery, for all was silent and empty. Not 
long after, however, the young Duke de Villeroi 
reappeared, who, in the mean time, had followed 
Baron de Breteuil into one of the antechambers 


\ 


THE QUEEN’S DIAMONDS. 


_ of the royal apartments. ‘ Hasten,” he said to 
Madame de Nehra, “the minister has consented 
to receive you in yonder room; he is waiting to 
hear your story, as I have announced you to him. 
You have arrived at a most favorable moment. 
He is in the happiest humor, and Iam convinced 
that he will grant every petition addressed him.” 
The young duke conducted Henriette to the door 
Chamfort did not ac- 


company her, remaining in the gallery to await 


of the baron’s apartment. 


her return, The captain of the guards stood 
opposite, nodding gravely and significantly. 

“Did the cardinal make any confession?” 
“Is he the 
deceived or the deceiver in this curious affair ?” 


asked Chamfort, in a lively manner, 


“No light will probably ever be thrown on it,” 
replied the Duke de Villeroi. 


what I have heard, the cardinal’s confusion was 


“ According to 
remarkable. Both the king and queen ques- 
tioned him closely and angrily. The cardinal ac- 
- knowledged frankly that he bought a diamond 
necklace from Béhmer, being induced to do so 
by a letter from the queen, addressed to the 
Countess Lamotte. He produced it, but their 
majesties pronounced the handwriting a forgery ; 
the cardinal’s attention was particularly directed 
to the signature, as a most bungling fraud. The 
king reproached him violently that a prince of 
the house of Rohan, and a great almoner of 
France, could have taken the words ‘ Marie An- 
toinette of France’ to be authentic, since it is so 
well known that the queens of this country al- 
ways sign their maiden name, and that ‘Marie 
Antoinette de Lorraine’ is the queen’s proper 
signature. The cardinal repeated, tremblingly, 
that the wish to please the queen, and the idea 
that, by undertaking this commission, he would 
pay homage to her, blinded his eyes. This dec- 
laration increased the queen’s indignation, whose 
personal dislike to him is well known. At this 
point the scene became very painful; as his emi- 
nence could scarcely stand, much less make any 
further defence, he was allowed to enter an ad- 
joining room, to justify himself in writing. Fif- 
teen minutes after he reappeared before their 
majesties with his written declaration; but this 





89 


did not in the least solve the difficulty, and the 
king quietly commanded him to leave. It seems 
that the result of this examination was foreseen, 
as M. de Rohan on his exit was received by Baron 
de Breteuil.” 

Chamfort listened attentively to this account, 
and, shaking his head, said: ‘It will always be 
considered incomprehensible that this affair is 
If there is a case that requires 
The 
court are generally well versed in this art; but 


made so public. 
concealment, this appears to me to be one. 


now, what occurs behind the scenes is brought to 
the light. The good cardinal, notwithstanding his 
fifty years, and the ravages they have made with 
his former reputation of beauty, intended to play 
the lover to the fair queen. Whether his error 
was that of the greater part of the people, who 
consider Marie Antoinette as a woman of light 
character, or whether he was a victim of de- 
ception, trifled with by dishonest agents, with 
or without the queen’s consent, will never be 
known. But forward, mischief! If this transac- 
tion receives notoriety from the courts of justice, 
then harm will come of it, do.what you will. It 
would not be wise to call upon a tribunal to pass 
judgment in a case reaching to the recesses of a 
queen’s heart—it would be a curious trial, where 
justice would have to do with a lady’s passion for 
jewelry, and the silly gallantry of an enamoured 
dignitary of the Church! How imprudent of 
their majesties to open such a budget, probably 
sent to them by the Evil One himself! Nothing 
but discreditable stories can be contained in it, 
and the monarchy only increases its disfavor with 
But I see Madame de Nehra ap- 
proach, with a countenance announcing good 


the people. 


tidings.” rs 
Henriette entered, her features beaming with 
joy. She hastened to Chamfort, and informed 
him that her interview with the minister had been 
successful beyond expectation. M. de Breteuil 
had received her with the utmost urbanity, ac- 
cepting the memorial of Mirabeau, which she de- 
livered to him, with the promise to read it at 
once, and consider it in its most favorable con- 
struction. He expressed himself in the most 


90 


friendly manner in reference to Count Mirabeau, 
adding, with special kindness, that, according to 
the minister’s view of the case, the former cabi- 
net order of the king, placing the count in uncon- 
ditional subjection to his father, could no longer 
be valid. Henriette was dismissed with the as- 
surance that, on the following day, he would lay 
her case before his majesty, and immediately for- 
ward the decision to Madame de Nehra’s address. 

“We came to Versailles at a very opportune 
moment,” said Chamfort. ‘Strange events have 
occurred in these court regions to-day—a cardi- 
nal to the Bastile, and a Mirabeau back to 
France! That Breteuil will now have unbounded 
influence with the king cannot be doubted ; he 
will have control of every thing. My blessing on 
the affair of the necklace, and our best thanks to 
you, duke!” The captain of the guard kindly 
accompanied them on their return to the great 
gate of the palace. 


CHAPTER XII. 


COUNT CAGLIOSTRO AND HIS WIFE. 


In the Rue St. Claude, in the Quartier des 
Marais, was a small house, that for some time 
had a peculiar attraction for the fashionable so- 
ciety in Paris. All day long splendid equipages 
stood before it, in which the neighbors recognized 
with astonishment the most famous ladies and 
gentlemen of the court, the most renowned dig- 
nitaries of the aristocracy, and even ecclesiastics 
of the highest rank. These visitors, whose stay 
became every day longer, came to see a stranger 
who had rented this house several months before, 
and inhabited it with other persons as mysterious 
as himself. Crowds of poor people also appeared 
at certain times, receiving presents at the hands 
of richly-liveried servants, and pronouncing bless- 
ings and prayers for their unknown benefactor, 
who had first arrived in the neighborhood in a 
carriage with post-horses, accompanied by his 
wife, a young and very beautiful lady, and fol- 





COUNT* MIRABEAU, 


lowed by a suite of servants, consisting of cou- 
riers, valets de chambre, and lackeys. He took 
up his abode in this quarter, after ostentatious 
and costly preparations had been made. 
Count Cagliostro, a name to which he soon 
added all kinds of titles and dignities, was a man 
apparently not over forty; although at times he 
could assume in a wonderful manner an expres- 
sion of countenance and demeanor reminding a 
spectator of the fabulous personages of a pri- 
meval age. His personal appearance was not ad- 
vantageous, this disagreeable impression being 
produced as much by his bowed and heavy move- 
ment, as by his odd costume, composed of a blue 
coat of taffeta trimmed with braid, stockings 
interwoven with gold, and velvet shoes with 
buckles set with precious stones. His head was. 
always covered with a hat adorned with white 
plumes, in whimsical harmony with the powdered 
and twisted plaits falling upon his neck and 
shoulders. Costly diamonds sparkled on all his 
fingers, as well as on his shirt-frill and gold 
watch-chain. When the air was cool, he threw 
over his person a bluish fox-fur, with a hood of 
curious form. The arrangements in his house 
The apart- 
ments in which he received his company were 


were no less unusual and mysterious. 


garnished with fabulous extravagance, and there 
were also small private cabinets, filled with 
strange figures, instruments, and apparatus of all 
descriptions. 

Cagliostro was alone in his studio, attentively 
reading a ponderous folio, and casting occasional 
glances at the crucibles standing on fire-pans, and 
which broke the silence with their crackle and 
bubbling. He did not observe that a lady stood 
behind him, who smilingly looked over his shoul- 
der, and at last ventured gently to touch him. 
He turned quickly with a cold, transient smile, 
greeting the Countess Cagliostro, who begged him 
to listen to her a moment. 

“What do you wish, Lorenza?” he asked, 
manifesting his displeasure at the appearance of © 
his wife, whose substantial and beautiful figure 
was revealed by her light negligee. 

“T must really recall you to the present, though 


COUNT CAGLIOSTRO AND HIS WIFE. 


at the risk of troubling your presence in Egypt, 
or among the guests of the marriage-feast. at 
Cana,” replied the countess, with mock gravity.’ 
“ But something has happened. It is reported in 
the city that the Cardinal de Rohan was yester- 
day afternoon taken to the Bastile, and therefore 
will hardly appear as guest at our dinner-party 
in spite of his promise. Must we postpone the 
affair, and send messages to the rest of those in- 
vited ?” 

Cagliostro sprang from his seat, impulsively 
raising his plumed hat, but, as was his custom, 
replacing it immediately. ‘Do you think I was 
not aware of that?” he exclaimed, looking at her 
with his bright eyes, in which lay his great power 
of attraction. “ Returning at midnight from Fon- 
tainebleau, and entering the streets of Paris, I 
‘had a vision showing me the cardinal in a dun- 
geon in‘the Bastile, and I knew then that what 
I had long foreseen had happened. Had I de- 
‘sired to postpone our dinner, I would have in- 
formed you of that fact this morning, countess. 
But I see that you sometimes still doubt me.” 

“Certainly not,” replied Lorenza, with pre- 

tended gravity, inclining herself apparently with 
great solemnity. “Since you have become Grand- 
Kophta,.and your mighty mind has introduced us 
into the secrets of Egyptian free-masonry, I am 
more than ever amazed at your influence, and 
bow beneath it as a flower to the breath of 
heaven. But your’ mysteries do not seem to in- 
volve the concerns of the kitchen and cellar, 
Count Alessandro Cagliostro. Your spirits ap- 
pear punctually, whencesoever you may call them, 
but roasts, pastries, fricassees, and all the trap- 
pings of a dinner, require considerable skill and 
labor, and hence my anxiety that, if our com- 
pany are to assemble at seven o’clock this even- 
Ang, nothing may be neglected, or in disorder.” 

“‘T see the Countess Cagliostro is still the same 
merry soul she was when Lorenza Feliciani,” ex- 
claimed Cagliostro, embracing her. His regular 
features expressed but for one moment a happy 
humor, for, suddenly reassuming his solemnity, 
he said: “I promised M. de Rohan that he should 
sit at my table in company with Richelieu. I 





91 


have in the mean time used all the energy at my 
command to put myself in communication with 
the spirit of the great cardinal, and I am certain 
that, when I summon him to-day, he will not only 
immediately appear, but, as I shall demand, un- 
fold to us the future of France. It is immaterial 
to the spirit of Richelieu of what persons the com- 
pany, may be composed. As the Cardinal de 
Rohan will lose the interview by his folly, I in- 
vited M. Chamfort this morning to take his place 
—he is one of the wittiest and selectest men in 
France, who has several times asked me to per- 
mit him to be present at a revelation of the mod- 
ern Egyptian mysteries. This man is of impor- 
tance to me. He is a member of the Academy, 
and I should like a report of my new science to 
be made to the renowned forty. I hope to be 
able to compel them to a recognition of the fact 
that, on this earth, there exists a mental faculty 
reaching beyond and spurning the laws of time 
and what we call Nature—a faculty which, to 
those who understand its secret action, may be 
exercised in a sublime and holy service for all 
mankind. I do not need any formal assent of 
the French Academy, but it might aid the truth 
in its reception by the mass of mankind. M. 
Chamfort promised to come, asking permission to 
introduce a lady from England, and, in the name 
of the Countess Cagliostro, I gladly consented to 
his wishes. Besides these we shall receive to-day — : 
a German baron, M. de Hohenfeld, lately minister 
of the Elector of Treves. He is a man of the 
world, paying court to all the ladies in Paris, very 


rich and extravagant—I recommend him to you, 


for once before you showed considerable tact in 
managing a German mind. He will be introduced 
by my friend the Marchioness de Barbeyrac, at 
whose last soirée a violent. dispute arose concern- 
ing the spirit empire. The marchioness, as usual, 
wittily declared her unbelief, and the ex-minister, 
in his politeness, did his utmost to coincide with 
her opinions, and heroically attacked me. I have 
invited them both, that they may to-day, by their 
conversion, become illustrious examples.” ‘ 
“You are the master, Alessandro, and I obey 
you, as always,” said Lorenza, roguishly glancing 


92 


at him, and pressing his hand. ‘The dinner 
shall be ready at the appointed time. But I am 
beginning to feel that I cannot understand your 
lofty mind; nor can I comprehend your indiffer- 
In 
your place I would have ordered post-horses in- 


ence at the arrest of the Cardinal de Rohan. 


stead of giving a party; but, I suppose, as you 
recently reproached me, I am viewing things in 
the same commonplace and vulgar way as when 
in the house of my father, the coppersmith Feli- 
ciani.” 

“You are sometimes foolishly sensitive,” said 
Cagliostro, as if repulsing her. ‘‘ What in the 
world have I to do with the cardinal? I could 
not save him from the Bastile. He allowed him- 
self to be driven by his passions, as a deer by the 
hunters, and finally fell into the snare. I am a 
man of ideas, and through men’s passions I can 
direct their destiny. If the cardinal really fancied 
that the beautiful Queen Marie Antoinette would 
listen to him, he has only affirmed to what a 
height his presumption could reach; but such 
follies are beneficial, for they often aid in the 
concocting of great events—in dissolving the ex- 
isting relations of men and things, and producing 
On this ac- 
count I made use of his confidence in me to guide 


new and interesting combinations. 


him in his own chosen path. But of what con- 
sequence is that to us?” 

‘* Well,” replied Lorenza, with a cunning smile, 
“he came to you for advice, as to his negotiation 
for that magnificent diamond necklace, and to 
know whether the queen would listen to his suit 
if he purchased it for her. 
fearful importance on that occasion, my friend. 


You did assume a 


You sent for a dove, as in your language young 
maidens are called. After laying your hands on 
her head in your quality of Grand-Kophta, thereby 
giving her a power of communication with the 
spirits of the middle regions, you placed her be- 
fore a crystal vase, filled with pure water, that 
The child saw in the 
vessel nothing but prosperity and joy for his emi- 


she might read the future. 


nence, and thus you consecrated the solemn fraud 
with your high-sounding and mystic terms, great 
Cagliostro.” 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


“It is true,” said the alchemist, momentarily 
forgetting himself and breaking out into a coarse 
laugh; but, recovering his seriousness, he added, 
“people that discredit what is really reasonable 
and true, are the most superstitious—they believe 
in a girl prophesying from a vase of water what 
The cardinal ran boldly 
into the trap; he arranged every thing with our 


is absolutely unknown. 


excellent friend Countess Lamotte, who worked 
upon him by an autograph letter from the queen ; 
he bought the necklace, and our countess received 
it from his hands to deliver it to Marie Antoinette. 
Does any thing of all this attach any blame to 
me? I only acted the part of benefactor in aid- 
ing the imagination of a prince of the Christian 
Church. As I permitted the noble Louis de 
Rohan to have interviews with Semiramis and 
Cleopatra, and to sup with Marcus Aurelius and 
Henry IV., I also allowed him the pleasure to 
dream of love with a Queen of France. I com- 
mitted no crime against her more than against 
the Egyptian queen, whom I caused to appear 
floating in a cloud of perfumes, and who, at my 
command, led the cardinal to a bower of roses.” 
“But M. de Rohan will accuse us of having 
betrayed him into these deceptions,” said Loren- 
za, On whose countenance anxiety showed itself 
more plainly. “I fear we shall be regarded as 
accomplices. The cardinal is a half-insane and 
babbling visionary, who will expose all the in- 
tercourse he has had with us. You have taught 
him to search for the philosopher’s stone, and he 
has paid enormous sums for the secrets of the 
Rosicrucians. But, in spite of the knowledge he 
obtained in the art of transmuting gold, he has 
become poorer, so that he could not even pay his 
instalments for the necklace, and thus the whole 
affair became public. Nor did your philosophy 
cure him of his folly; he has become more fan- 
tastic than ever, never dreaming of your imposi- 
tions. You have certainly carried your charlatan- 
ry very far, and, if nothing else causes our ruin, 
it will be that mad rendezvous that you originated 
Mile. 
Oliva, whom you hired from among the notorious 


women of the Palais-Royal and disguised as a 


in the grove of the park at Versailles. 


COUNT CAGLIOSTRO AND HIS WIFE. 


queen, may have been a very superior Marie An- 
toinette, who completed the work of turning the 
poor cardinal’s head ; but now that the case has 
gone before the courts of justice, that woman 
will betray you. I beg you, Alessandro, be pru- 
dent—let us leave Paris at once!” 

“JT do not comprehend why you are so coward- 
ly,” replied Cagliostro, in an irritable tone. “ Must 
I remind you of the fearless spirit that formerly 
animated you, and considered no adventure too 
dangerous? And now, by a sudden flight that 
must bring suspicion upon us, you would lose the 
I will not 
leave ; and, if accused, I shall know how to de- 


advantages we have gained in Paris. 


fend myself with all the means at my command. 
My influence, felt even by the princes of the royal 
family, aims at universal dominion over the minds 
and pockets of men, and we ought not to abandon 
this purpose in an impulse of foolish fear!” 
“JT am not timid,” exclaimed Lorenza, her eyes 
flashing darkly, “but you know I always had a 
correct presentimen+ of danger. You remember 
I saved you and myself twice from imprisonment, 
once in London and again in Madrid, by urging 
you to leave in time, while you were insisting that 
no harm could happen you because you lived be- 
fore the flood, and accompanied Noah into the ark.” 
> Cagliostro burst into laughter, and for a few 
moments permitted the entreating caresses of 
As if to pacify her, he said: “ All sus- 
picion will fall on our noble Countess Lamotte- 


Lorenza. 


Valois; and, therefore, I was very urgent in ad- 
vising her to flee. This ‘morning, before break 
of day, she left Paris for Bar-sur-Aube, where I 
have procured her a safe place of concealment at 
the house of a grave-digger with whom I have 
business relations.” f Eg 

“That is why I searched the whole house for 
her in vain,” replied Lorenza, thoughtfully. “ But 
her disappearance will be of no advantage to us, 
Giuseppe Balsamo,” she added, with renewed im- 
portunity. ‘As this was her place of abode, our 
house will be considered the source of her in- 
trigues, and investigations will be made. The 
necklace will be sought for here; as the queen 


_has not received it, it must be somewhere else.” 





93 


“Not a trace of it will be found,” said Caglios 
tro—“ not a gem of it now sparkles in this house. 
You know we separated the costly trinket into 
parts, and Lamotte’s husband has reached Lon- 
don before this time, and is turning the diamonds 
into money.” 

“You ought never to have had dealings with 
“By her 
art she deceived the cardinal, but she will also be 


that wretched woman,” said Lorenza. 
your destruction as well as mine. I tell you, I 
never believed in her noble ancestry—it is an im- 
pudent invention. A person of this description 
cannot possibly be a descendant of the old royal 
family of France.” 

“Why not?” laughed Cagliostro, with a mock- 
ing grimace. ‘You women are not capable of 
doing justice to one another. Can an intrigante 
not be a daughter of an ancient royal house? 
My child, genealogies plainly prove that the 
Countess Lamotte-Valois dates her descent from 
Charles de Valois, Baron de Saint-Remy, a natu- 
Her des- 
tiny made a vagabond and a beggar of her, and 


ral son of King Charles IX. of France. 


when I formed her acquaintance, she was living 
miserably on the alms thrown to her by the cour- 
tiers revering the name of Valois. I whispered 
to her of enterprise, and she repaid me as a use- 
ful and skilful instrument in my plans. Was it 
not an interesting comedy to see how the last of 
the house of Valois forced herself upon the 
daughter of the Cesars, who wears a crown to 
which the poor outcast intrigante had many 
claims? The diamond necklace becomes a 
means of vengeance on this proud queen!” 

Lorenza shook her head, and without a word 
approached the door of the cabinet. 

“‘ Make every preparation for our dinner-party 
this evening,” Cogliostro called after her, impres- ~ 
sively, ‘All must be choice, punctual, and bril- 
liant. I rely on you, as I always do.” He reseated 
himself at his table, and was soon absorbed again 
in his studies. 





94 COUNT MIRABEAU. 


CHAPTER XIIL 
THE SPIRIT-DINNER. 


Tae appointed hour for Count Cagliostro’s din- 
ner came, and those invited did not delay to ap- 
pear. The count received his guests in his usual 
costume, which he never seemed to remove, and 
to which the fashionable society of Paris were 
accustomed. His wife, however, had made an 
enchanting toilet, which, with her sufficiently 
polished and effective manner, she knew how 
to wear, 

The first that arrived were the Marchioness de 
Barbeyrac and her escort, ex-minister Baron de 
Hohenfeld. She was a lady of uncommon beau- 
ty, who, although about forty years of age, re- 
tained almost full possession of her early charms, 
and, where there was any deficiency, it seemed to 
be replaced by a certain kindliness and matured 
intellect. She was celebrated in the polite society 
of the time, and was sought for not ortly by those 
attached to the court, but by all who were distin- 
guished in Paris. At present she held in her 
chains the German Baron de Hohenfeld, a man of 
stately figure, somewhat over fifty, indicating in 
his cheerful manners the character of a man of 
the world, as well as of a German cavalier who 
had gradually received impressions from French 
life. 
Chamfort and Madame de Nehra arrived almost 
at the same time. The latter consented to pay 
this visit with Chamfort, as she knew that it 
would satisfy a curiosity of her absent friend. The 


- Jife and actions of the magician had attracted Mira- 


beau’s attention, and in his later letters to Cham- 
fort he reiterated his desire, for several reasons, to, 
have a full account of the renowned performer 
of miracles. Chamfort therefore resolved to form 
Count Cagliostro’s acquaintance, and Henriette 
accompanied him in the happiest frame of mind, 
for she desired to show herself much interested, 
as Mirabeau’s agent, and, besides, felt- that she 
had obtained favorable prospects for him. 
Cagliostro awaited his guests at the foot of the 
inner staircase of his house, behind him a crowd 





of attendants, dressed on this occasion in a rich 
mourning livery. The countess was in the draw- 
ing-room above, where she gracefully received the 
company conducted to her by her husband. All 
the guests had not yet arrived. General de La- 
fayette was expected, for he had accepted the in- 
vitation to dinner, feeling himself more powerfully 
than ever attracted by magnetism and magic, 
which had become fashionable in Paris on his re- 
turn from his second voyage to America. At 
length, he also made his appearance, and the fold- 
ing-doors leading to the dining-room were opened 
by the steward. : 

The saloon chosen for this evening’s entertain- 


| ment was decorated in a very peculiar manner. 


It was entirely hung with black velvet tapestry, 
interwoven with golden stars, whose brillianey 
was not dimmed by the dark background. Every 
thing in the large apartment seemed intended to 
make an impression of solemnity and mourning, 
with which the magnificent mirrors and chande- 
liers formed a remarkable contrast. In the pro- 
found silence an effect was produced withdrawing 
the mind from the outward present, and plunging 
it into unusual thought and expectation. 

The table in the centre of this mystic room 
was laden with the rarest luxuries. There were 
nine covers on it, although the company consisted 
of only seven persons; but Cagliostro explained 
this by remarking that not all who had been in- 
vited had come, unforeseen circumstances pre- 
venting them. He requested his guests to take 
their seats, but did not have the superfluous coy- 
ers removed. 

The suspense with which the company entered 
this magnificent apartment gave place to astonish- 
ment at the manner in which the dinner was 
served. No attendants were visible, their places 
being supplied by automata made of ebony—and 
a machinery, novel at that time, conveyed from 
below what was necessary for the repast, return- 
ing with what was no longer required. 

The Marchioness de Barbeyrac, who came with 


the boldest and haughtiest doubts, was at first 


somewhat surprised, and fell into a deep medita- 
tion, Her attention, however, was aroused by 


- 


déme.” 


THE SPIRIT-DINNER. 


the interesting conversation of Chamfort and the 
Marquis de Lafayette. She joined in it with her 
accustomed vivacity. : 

'“T suppose people in America are so busy with 
material things, that‘ they have no:time to look for 
spirits ?”’ asked Chamfort, in his usual sarcastic 
manner, turning to Lafayette. ‘ The journals re- 
late your triumphs everywhere during your second 
You helped to 
complete the temple of transatlantic liberty, gen- 


visit to the American republic. 
eral, and such a labor is really godlike. Having 
returned to France with the title and rights of a 
United States citizen, you must find time pass- 
ing heavily here in Paris, where as yet there is 
nothing for us to do. And this ennui, by the 
way, originates spectres, miracles, and such 
things. Thus I explain your continued attach- 
ment to mesmerism; for, I hear, you are still an 
admirer of the German doctor, and ere wpresent at 
his magnetic cures, performed in the Place Ven- 
Chamfort, in his careless way, had spo- 
ken the decisive word in reference to the situa- 
tion in which they found themselves. Lafayette, 
whose youthful countenance suddenly became 
very grave, hesitated to answer, while Cagliostro 
was sending his glances to each guest, endeavor- 
ing to discover, by the searching power of his 
eyes, the probable character and temper of those 
about him. 

The Marchioness de Barbeyrac was the first to 
resume the conversation, her charming features 
“Tf M. de Cham- 
fort is right in his witty remark, I fear—what I 


expressing her ironical doubt. 


hoped from the beginning—that we shall see no 
spirits at the table of Count Cagliostro; for I 
think we are amusing ourselves admirably, and if 
idle tedium evokes spectres we are safe from 
their intrusion to-day. What do you say, 
count ?” 

The magician smiled, disclosing his white teeth, 
which gave his mouth a peculiar charm. He re- 
plied in broken French, artfully magnifying his 
foreign accent: “The spirits care little for our 
amusements. Does the evening zephyr care for 
them? It kisses our temples, and passes by. 


Do even great natural principles, often unappreci- 


> 


95 


ated for centuries, care whether we comprehend 
them or not? That is our business—not theirs. 
Air, spirits, truth, are all one and the same thing, 
and it is our fault if we do not know how to em- 
ploy them, They exist, in the fulness of their 
purpose and their adaptation, only when we com- 
prehend them; and to him who is so silly as to 
suppose that there are no present problems in 
Nature, affecting his well-being, and which are 
capable of solution—to him all is conceit, doubt, 
and infidel superstition—an impenetrable wall 
separates such a mind not only from the invisible 
and eternal, but positively from the knowledge of 
material facts belonging to the sensible system of 
things of which for a time he constitutes a part.” 

** And I beg you most earnestly, count, not. to 
penetrate that wall!” said the marchioness, for- 
cing herself to a gracious smile. “I have certainly 
come here as a thorough unbeliever, and with 
ideas of conversion; but the nearer the moment 
approaches the more I feel a nervous discomfort. 
Perhaps the Marquis de Lafayette will first tell us 
something of America.” 

“For example, it is said that there are no 
donkeys in America,” interrupted Chamfort, mer- 
rily. “Ihave long desired information on that 
subject. Is it true, general, that formerly such 
animals were not known in that vountry? It is 
owing to the wisdom of the great Washington, 
who is now as successful a planter as he was a 
hero, that donkeys have been introduced into his 
native land, and I should think that Europe, being 
overstocked, would gladly accommodate him.” 

“That matter was not quite so promptly ac- 
complished,” replied Lafayette, smiling. ‘‘It is 
true, my friend Washington felt the want of such 
animals at Mount Vernon, and I informed him 
what a superabundance there is in Europe.— 
But he would not be satisfied with a specimen of 
the common species, wishing to possess such as 
are found in Spain only. We endeavored to ob- 
tain some, by making application to his Catholic 
majesty, through Mr. Harrison, and the king 
gave orders for the purchase of two of the finest 
in all his kingdom, sending them as memori- 





als of his esteem. The great American was 


96 


pleased at the flattering attention of a crowned 
head, and he personally remarked to me that he 
felt under great obligations to the donor.” * 

“Heaven grant that this dangerous gift may 
not make him recreant to his republican prin- 
ciples!” exclaimed Chamfort, with a droll ges- 
ture; “ for, by these Spanish donkeys, monarchical 
ideas might be introduced into America. I sup- 
pose, that the example of the great Washington 
is very infiuential in the United States, and if the 
defender of liberty is touched by such regal pres- 
ents all the transatlantic democracy may feel as 
he does toward royalty. There seems to be some 
sequence then in the belief that the reéstablish- 
ment of a monarchy in the republic of the New 
World is not improbable, but yet my confidence in 
the principles entertained by the people has been 
confirmed by the accounts of your last triumphal 
We have 
drawn the happy conclusion that the Americans 
paid you so much honor only on account of the 
independence you assisted them to achieve, and 
that the friendship of the transatlantic States for 
you signifies that liberty must at last dawn for all 
oppressed nations.” 


procession there, General Lafayette. 


“The eyes of America are especially directed 
toward our country!” replied Lafayette. ‘The 
Congress confided to me a letter to King Louis 
XVI., whom the American Indians call the great 
In this epistle the thanks of the 
United States to France for her aid is expressed 


Ononthio. 


very seriously. Liberty has become, as it were, 
the breath of that continent. Repress it, and the 
nation dies. While smoking the last pipe with 
my friends there, wishing them, at parting, good 
health, fortunate hunts, inviolable unity, and the 
realization of all their hopes, the thought of the 
The 
farewell tears filling my eyes were full of mean- 


future of my native land overwhelmed me. 


ing; they were such as are shed at the parting 
from a friend to whom are confided our ideas, 
plans, and hopes. We must envy the Americans 
their good fortune. They will not only receive 


European donkeys, but open an asylum for the 





* ““Mémoires du Général Lafayette,” vol. ii. p. 
12%. 





COUNT MIRABEAUD. 


oppressed among men. General Washington 


wrote to me lately to induce every one, who de- 


sired peace and happiness, to migrate to his coun- 
try, and establish a new home, by mechanical or 
agricultural labor, in a rich and bountiful land.” 
“Long live Lafayette!” cried Chamfort, raising 
his glass to touch it with that of his neighbor. 
Count Cagliostro, however, made a gesture with 
his hand stretched into the air, at the same time 
inviting his guests to pause an instant in drinking 
the toast. Suddenly two of the automata rose 
through the floor, bearing a stand of decanters 
filled with precious wines. Cagliostro himself 
filled some of the glasses with the costly bever- 
age. ; 
“This is Syracusan,” said Chamfort, tasting 
“We 
hope the count has received it in the usual way; 


his wine with the air of a connoisseur. 


for, although he doubtless possesses spiritual re- 
sources even for his wine-cellar, the timid ladies 
of the party would rather taste a growth that 
they are sure was pressed by the brown hands of 
an Italian peasant.” 

Count Cagliostro pointed to the wine-glasses, 
his manner having something good-natured and 
cheerful. 

Chamfort raised his glass: ‘‘ And now I drink, 
in this pearly Syracusan, the health of General de 
Lafayette! May his arm, dedicated to the libera- 
tion of nations, and his heart, beating for the 
emancipation of the negroes, continue strong and 
hopeful! He has devoted his services to all who 
are deprived of the happiness and dignity of man 
—to the unfortunate negroes beyond the ocean, 
as well as to the oppressed Protestants in France! 
Long live Lafayette! and with him all the disci- 
ples of national freedom and the rights of man, 
of whatever race or creed!” 

The glasses were emptied. Even Cagliostro 
transcended his usual abstinence—for he seldom 
indulged in wine, and shared sparingly in the en- 
joyments of his table, scarcely touching any 
Lafayette 
contented himself with a grateful smile in ac- 


thing except a little Italian pastry. 


knowledging the toast with which he was hon- 
ored. The marchioness, however, remarked to 


THE SPIRIT-DINNER. 


Count Cagliostro: “It is with pleasure we join 
in drinking a toast which remembers even the 
American slave. General Lafayette has become, 
so to speak, one of the proficients of the black 
art by his interest in the negroes, in whose cause 
he has established an agency in Paris, You see, 
count, that sorcery is regarded here as one of the 
loftiest sciences, for a magician like M. de Lafay- 
ette wishes to summon before us the spirit of a 
fairer future. And now, count, tell us, what pre- 
tensions you yourself will verify—what decisive 
proofs of your mastery will you give us to-day? 
Is it all imagination, magic, illusion, or truth, that 
we are to expect from you? ” 

Cagliostro, at this question, looked quietly 
down, and seemed to lose himself in his reflec- 
tions. ._ Then the long plaits on his neck trembled 
as in magnetic motion, and the marchioness could 
scarcely disown that she saw bright sparks fly 
from his head. Presently he raised his counte- 
nance, looking at her with that extraordinary at- 
traction which the most unbelieving acknowl- 
edged did characterize his glances. 
de Barbeyrac felt herself singularly influenced, 


Madame 


drops of perspiration fell from her brow, and, 
nearly fainting, she was obliged to sustain herself 
by seizing the hand of her neighbor, Baron de 
Hohenfeld. 

“ Gracious Heaven, you are pale, marchioness !”” 
exclaimed the German baron, who had been an 
He 
endeavored to wait upon the lady to whom his 


attentive observer of what was passing. 


gallant services were devoted; but, quickly re- 
covering, she refused assistance, declaring that 
“T feel already that I might 
possibly become a pupil of Count Cagliostro,” 
said M. de Hohenfeld, with one of those polite 
“ And 
I think we are in a favorable state of mind to 


she was quite well. 


bows so natural to the genuine cavalier. 


approach our real object. Were we not invited 
to enter the spheres of an invisible kingdom, 
under the guidance of our great master, on whose 
, brow we may plainly see the signs of consecra- 
tion and rank? I think I hear the opening of 
the golden gates, revealing to us the glories of 
the spirit-world!” 


7 





97 


The marchioness looked in astonishment at her 
companion, who, after remaining silent so long, 
was thus suddenly moved to enthusiasm. She 
was on the point of indulging in some merriment, 
when she again felt the eyes of Cagliostro, and 
voluntarily turned to him, rising from her seat 
and following him. The sorcerer pointed to the 
chair, in which she again seated herself, sighing. 
He then said gravely, and with much dignity: “I 
beg every one to remain where he now is. I re- 
member well what I promised you, Madame de 
Barbeyrac. This art, however, cannot be desig- 
nated by any earthly color—the knowledge that 
avails here is neither black, white, blue, nor red. 
Pure science, illuminating the mind, must bear 
us on its strong wings far beyond the reach of 
the vulgar vision! I ask nothing of you but to 
name the persons you desire to see.” 

She 


appeared to have no courage to answer, and the 


The marchioness started, but was silent. 


company felt anxious and solemn. 

“T will try to read your mind, marchioness,” 
said Cagliostro, looking at her with a triumphant 
smile. ‘TI think I can see fluttering there one of 
the names of such persons you wish to appear— 
that of the Cardinal de Richelieu.” 

“Yes,” replied Madame de Barbeyrac, breath- 
ing freely, “let us see the eminent cardinal. And 
then I should like to see my well-beloved mater- 
nal grandmother.” 

Scarcely had the marchioness uttered these 
words, when Cagliostro approached a magnificent 
looking-glass on the wall opposite Madame de 
Barbeyrac, which, until that moment, had reflect- 
ed the image only of this charming woman. 
The count bowed profoundly toward the mirror, 
and soon something on its surface seemed to 
move. At first, shadows gathered around it, as 
of the coming on of night, and solemnly affecting 
the mind; these were transformed into mists, 
and again into cloudy folds, like a rich drapery 
swaying to some evening air that whispers of 
youthful hope and love. The expectation of the 
company became a terror, and almost a breath 
could be heard, when an actual form of life re- 
solved itself to the eyes of all. 


z] 


98 


A figure in the full canonicals of a cardinal, as 
if summoned by a kindred spirit, stepped forth 
from the mirror. It resembled exactly, in all its 
features and dress, that portrait of the great 
statesman and ecclesiastic still shown in the 
Hdtel de Richelieu. 


ment those present regarded the tall and dignified 


With increasing astonish- 


form approaching the table, and greeting the com- 
pany with a gesture expressive of the repose of 
the happy dead. 

The marchioness did not seem afraid of the ap- 
parition, but, on the contrary, resumed her self- 
She returned the 
salutation of the shadow with her accustomed 


possession and cheerfulness. 


grace and amiability; but the baron was seized 
with a feeling of the most distressing fear. He 
searcely dared turn his countenance to the spectre 
as it passed, touching him with its garments. 
Chamfort and Madame de Nehra looked at each 
other in perplexity. The former essayed to 
laugh, but the grave look of Henriette reproved 
him for his levity, entreating him at the same 
time to observe the scene quietly and thought- 
fully. 

The marchioness regained complete control 
over her mind, and ventured to address the ap- 
parition in the usual conversational tone, excus- 
ing herself in the courteous language of a well- 
educated lady, who unhappily, and by some acci- 
dent, had dared to disturb him. The phantom 
smiled, and appeared to listen to her with some 
interest. The marchioness, however, beeame al- 
“The policy 
of the Duke de Richelieu I always greatly ad- 


most talkative in her excitement. 


mired,” she exclaimed, in all her drawing-room 
confidence. “It is a pity that the present minis- 
ters of France have entirely ceased from following 
the traditions of the great master of state policy.” 

‘The spectre prepared to reply by raising his 
arms solemnly, and said in a deep voice, having 
sometliing mournful in its sound: “I cannot but 
bewail the ‘incompetency of the present minis- 
ters of France; for heavily will this poor country 
pay for the sins of my successors. A sea of 
trouble will inundate altar and throne. Phara- 
mond’s dream will be realized; but a second and 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


more fearful flood will come, whose bloody waves 
will deluge the land. And my happiness is 
troubled, in the place assigned me, only by the 
consciousness that the real result of my earthly 
activity is victory to the enemies of the Church. 
There is no salvation either for thrones or peo- 
ples but in the bosom of the Church of Christ. 
I first made France great, by bringing to her sup- 
port the pillars of religion, and I considered it as 
an act of consummate policy to succor the Prot- 
estants of Germany, and thus humble the house 
of Austria. 
the wind by which France will reap the whirl- 


Woe is me! In this way I sowed 
wind. But if you embrace the true faith you 
will be saved, body and soul, and outlive the 
most fearful trials.”* At these words a bright- 
ness passed over the spectre’s countenance, but 
suddenly it changed to an expression of dark 
irony. Stepping forward, the figure stood in the 
immediate neighborhood of the Marchioness de 
Barbeyrac, and, in a hollow voice, prophesied : 
“You yourself will die the death of a criminal. 
I tell you this as a punishment for disturbing my 
rest!” 

The phantom disappeared. It seemed to have 
suddenly mingled with the surrounding air. No 
one noticed the manner of its withdrawal. Breath- 
less silence reigned in the apartment. - The mar- 
chioness again became pale, and trembled, while 
the baron immediately occupied himself in en- 
deavoring to explain that the very ungallant 
expressions with which the great cardinal took 
leave of her, were the result of the hurry of his 
departure—that he had probably but a few mo- 
ments longer to tarry with mortals, and, becoming 
confused, lost his correct judgment of the usual 
relations of persons and things. 





* From a report made by Baron de Hohenfeld, and 
found among other family papers. It gives an account 
of this dinner at Cagliostro’s house, and the summon- 
ing of the spirits. ‘‘I know not what became of the 
figure,’ says Hohenfeld in this paper, ‘‘so greatly was 
I moved by its speech. I have retained an indelible im- 
pression of the appearance of the phantom, and wit 
nessed a similar majestic bearing during the reign of 
terror, especially among the ecclesiastics of the French: 
Church.”"—Vide ‘‘ Rhenish Antiquary,” vol. ii., div. ii., 
ch. ii., p. 776. 


- 


THE SPIRIT-DINNER. 


“The words of the shadow remind me of our 
friend Mirabeau,” whispered Chamfort to Madame 
de Nehra. “He fancies that this Cagliostro is 
employed by the Jesuits, and practises his decep- 
tion for the purposes of that order. The speech 
of his spectral eminence, that we have just heard, 
seems to confirm this idea. We must not forget 
to report it to our friend in London.” * 

Henriette nodded approvingly, but remarked at 
the same time, in a lively manner, that he must 
redouble his attention in observing the develop- 
ment of the next scene. ‘ 

The second apparition, like the first, became 
visible by its formation in the interior of the mir- 
ror. The solemn shadows were soon succeeded 
by a definite outline, and another figure began to 
move. It was an aged lady, in an old-fashioned 
night-dress of brown stuff, covered with lace, who 


approached the table with grace and dignity, 


turning in a kindly manner to her grand-daughter. 


The marchioness approached with the greatest 
vivacity, stretching out her arms to embrace her 
grandmother, whose loved image she saw before 
her. 

“Touch me not, my daughter,” whispered the 
phantom, receding a few steps. 

After the marchioness was seated, her grand- 
mother took a chair near, and they began an in- 
teresting conversation, touching family affairs, 
but continued by Madame de Barbeyrac with joy- 
ful emotions. The lively marchioness seemed 
soon to forget by what extraordinary means she 
was permitted to speak to her aged relative ; 
she lived again in the past, feeling herself at the 
hearth of her paternal castle, confidentially dis- 
cussing the woe and weal of the whole family. 
The old lady was about to recur to the early days 
of her grand-daughter, showing a most surprising 
memory for all the little occurrences. that charac- 
terized her at that period. She seemed to re- 
member more than was pleasant to the marchion- 
ess, for, carried away by her volubility, she 
touched on certain youthful reminiscences, and, 
not quite with the delicaey of a spirit, brought 


99 


into grotesque light the levity, wildness, and ob- 
stinacy of Madame de Barbeyrac, her disobe- 
dience to salutary precepts, and the consequences 
resulting. The marchioness could only save her- 
self by laughing rather louder than was precisely 
proper when in company with a phantom. The 
loquacious old lady spoke of a page, named Pery, 
whom she called a dear little rogue, and who, at 
the time of which they were speaking, completely 
turned the head of her grand-daughter. Other 
and probably not very desirable revelations would 
have followed, when the marchioness, in her fright, 
and to put a stop to these disclosures, hastily 
moved her hand to seize her grandmother’s arm, 
when the apparition exhaled like a vapor.* 

The Countess Cagliostro prepared to leave the 
dining-room, rising from her seat, and inviting her 
guests to follow her to the drawing-room and take 
coffee. The company acceded to this request, 
and for a moment silently regarded one another 
with various sentiments. The reaction and de- 
pression that followed the unusual excitement, 
caused them almost immediately to take leave of 
their hosts. 

At this moment heavy steps were heard in the 
antechamber, and several loud voices asked impe- 
The folding-doors 
were thrown back, and two police-officers entered 


riously for Count Cagliostro. 


rather noisily, approaching the master of the 
house, and showing him a warrant of arrest for 
himself and wife. Their orders were to carry 
him and the countess immediately to the Bastile, 

The magician received this news with unshaken 
tranquillity. “Do.you know any thing of the 
cause of this arrest ?” he asked, indifferently, re- 
turning the warrant to the officer after slightly 
glancing at it. 

The officer shrugged his shoulders, replying, 
with an expression of contempt, that the Countess 
Lamotte-Valois had also been seized at Bar-sur- 
Aube and taken to the Bastile. ‘And I pre- 
sume,” he added, “that this lady has made con- 
fessions that lead to the incarceration of Count 


Cagliostro and his consort.” 





* The paper of Mirabeau, ‘‘ Lettre sur Cagliostro et 
Lavater,”’ gives this view. 


' 





* “Rhenish Antiquary,” vol. ii., div. ii., ch. ii., p. 
TM 


100 


The countess screamed aloud, and ran toward 
her husband, clinging to him and imploring his 
protection. 

“Be of good courage, Lorenza; clouds come 
and go—all things aggregate and disperse by 
their own laws!” said Cagliostro, solemnly. 
Then approaching his guests he excused himself 
for thus involuntarily being obliged to abridge his 
duties as host. He hoped to grow in knowledge 
by means of this trial, and therefore he received 
joyfully all that happened to him. His counte- 
nance had an almost triumphant air, and with 
dignity he delivered himself into the hands of the 
officers, who were becoming impatient. They did 
not even give the countess time to change her 
gorgeous toilet, and she was forced to accompany 
them just as she was. A close carriage, standing 
at the door below, received the two prisoners and 
their escort, and they were quickly borne to their 
destination. 

The company remained for a short time in the 
drawing-room, sadly conscious of their strange 
position, and involuntarily looking at each other 
with a peculiarly comic smile. 

“Tt is well that the police did not disturb us in 
the midst of our spirit-company, but waited po- 
litely until we were at our coffee!” Chamfort re- 
marked, interrupting the silence that followed the 
departure of their hosts. “ And yet they troubled 
us at a very important moment, for to digest Cag- 
liostro’s phantoms is no trifle. What would have 
been the consequences if the avenging messengers 
from the Bastile had found among us his emi- 
nence, or the grandmother of the marchioness ! 
It would have disconcerted the cardinal to come 
immediately in contact with the police on his re- 
visiting France ; and the dear old lady might not 
have talked so much and of so many family af- 
fairs, had she known herself to be under the sur- 
veillance of those officers; I fancy she would at 
least have been silent in reference to that charm- 
ing Pery.” 

“Tam convinced that we have been sadly de- 
ceived in this house,” said the Marchioness de 
Barbeyrac, beginning to recover from her terror. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


“T assure you, on my word of honor, that I never 
even heard the name of Pery, much less in con- 
nection with a page. Anda man who allows his 
spirits to relate such untruths, is unworthy of con- 
fidence, either personal or scientific.” 

“T wish I had asked him to summon my fa- 
ther,” exclaimed Chamfort, laughing. “I only 
knew my mother ; and, although I must have had 
a progenitor, I never sawhim. I wonder if Count 
Cagliostro did not also find my ci-devant father 
among the mystics in the Egyptian temples? If 
his manner or appearance had not suited me, I 
could have acted in the same way as others do in 
the case of the pretty page: I would have denied 
his existence.” 

The marchioness hastily took the arm of her 
companion, the continuance of this conversation 
not being very palatable to her, but on her depar- 
ture expressed herself as courteously as if nothing 
annoyed her. General Lafayette, who seemed to 
have retained his favorable opinion of Cagliostro, 
followed, whispering to Chamfort, that the inter- 
ference of the police proved nothing against a man 
of such extraordinary gifts ; for was not the Bas- 
tile the home of the best and noblest in France ? 

“But the police are very eager in collecting 
proofs against our host,” replied Chamfort, as 
they descended to the hall below, which was still 
It could 
also be observed that a strict search was proceed- 


guarded by policemen and soldiers. 
ing in the house. “Hunt everywhere,” added 
Chamfort, “ something must be found in the work- 
shop of the sorcerer. A few spirits may perhaps 
be in some dressing-room, changing their cos- 
tume; try to catch them. It is possible that in 
the cellar you may discover the great Althotas, the 
universal old man, from whom Cagliostro has 
learned the Oriental sciences, and who accompa- 
nies him everywhere to complete his edu- 
cation.” 

In the street the poor and the sick surrounded 
the house. 
remedies from Count Cagliostro about that time, 


They generally received gifts and 


and loud were their wailings and blessings when 
they beheld him carried away. 





f/ 4 
fr > a Ry 7 = 5 
HTT NTA HPS 
i\ wy s¥ sad deed ¥ } 
*»> ta f 
C’ Pe ) bd 
WO 8 2 ge ath eZ 
Wd FP Ae % ip 


THE SWINDLERS. 


i 





CHAPTER XIV’: 


A MORNING AT SAINT-CLOUD. 


Queen Mariz ANTOINETTE was at the castle of 
Saint-Cloud, which had been transferred from the 


_ hands of the Duke d’Orleans into the possession 


of the queen, having been expressly declared to 
All the officials and 
servants of the palace, as well as the Swiss guards 


be her personal property. 


on duty, wore her livery, and all the printed reg- 
ulations, affixed to the gates and placarded in the 
environs, bore the simple signature: “By the 
Queen.” This was something so unprecedented 
in the usages of the French, that it began to ex- 
cite great attention, not only among the people, 
but among the higher grades of society. Com- 
plaints against Marie Antoinette increased, espe- 
cially among the latter. They accused her of 
endeavoring to undermine the customs of the old 
monarchy, going so far as to say that it was im- 
politic as well as immoral that castles and lands 
should be in the exclusive ownership of a Queen 
of France.* The lower classes also drew from 
this fact new reason for complaint and hatred 
against her, and there were not wanting discredit- 
able constructions of her conduct in various re- 
spects., 

This prevalent excitement aided very decisively 
in strengthening the inimical feeling against the 





* Campan, vol. i., p, 274. 





court, while carrying on a process against Cardi- 
nal de Rohan. Since the latter was taken prison- 
er, together with such persons as were declared 
his accomplices, this suit was taking its regular 
course, and was about to be decided by the Par- 
liament at Paris. The king and queen anticipated 
this moment with anxiety, nor were they ignorant 
of the danger that threatened the authority of the 
throne in this matter, for Louis XVI. soon saw 
what a mistake he had made, in committing, not 
only to courts of justice, but even to the Par- 
liament in full session, the dark and inextricable 
This idea of the 
king originated in a bold and magnanimous feel- 


affair of the diamond necklace. 


ing, but one that, for his own interest, could not 
well have been worse, or more unhappy in its re- 
sults. The Parliaments had been so long the cus- 
tomary enemies and rivals of the royal power, that 
they had no sympathy even with their restorer, 
for as such Louis XVI. might be considered. It 
was rather to be expected that the passions al- 
ways animating this political body, would influ- 
ence them, as usual, to sacrifice the authority of 
the king. As, on the one hand, it was well 
known that the queen desired the punishment of 
the cardinal, so, on the other, all were convinced 
that she could only gain her purpose by express- 
ing the wish that the Parliament should find him 
innocent. All at court understood this thorough- 
ly, and the uneasiness daily increased. 

The king had never been known to act with 
such decision as in this disagreeable business. 


102 


He thought that he owed it to his love for 
and contidence in his consort, that this affair 
should be investigated, regardless of every thing ; 
and, to a certain extent, be transacted before the 
eyes of the public. The foul suspicion, whispered 
everywhere in reference to the queen, had gone so 
far that she was accused of a secret agreement 
with the adventurous and criminal Lamotte, and 
of being the real author of the whole intrigue, by 
means of which the necklace came into Marie An- 
toinette’s possession, at the cost of the unhappy 
cardinal, using for this purpose his foolish love. 
Many unprejudiced people entertained this opin- 
ion, and could not be induced to alter it. So much 
the more the queen thought it her duty to enter 
into this public contest for her personal honor 
and dignity, as well as for the moral purity and 
power of the throne. She was threatened on all 
sides. The clergy and nobility united in the most 
violent expressions of indignation at the impris- 
opment of an ecclesiastic prince, and many per- 
sons of elevated rank, as the Prince de Condé, 
who had married a daughter of the Rohan family, 
manifested their disapproval, becoming daily more 
violent and resentful in their complaints. 

During this painful uncertainty, the queen 
found the quiet and solitude of Saint-Cloud more 
congenial, while the king often remained at Ver- 
sailles, together with the ministers and their 
secretaries. The palace happened to need repair 
and remodelling, on account of new court ar- 
rangements, and the preservation of the beauty 
and security of this royal residence. Louis was 
busily engaged with the architect Micque concern- 
ing these improvements on the very day that the 
decision was to be made in reference to the 
queen. The greatest difficulty was found in ar- 
ranging the expenses of the palace restoration, in 
view of the condition of the royal treasury; on 
that account the king’s opinion was, to protract 
the work during ten years, completing it at the 
end of the century. 


On the same day, the queen, according to her 


custom, was taking an early walk in the park of. 


Saint-Cloud, endeavoring in its beautiful shade 
to forget her uneasiness, which had driven 





COUNT MIRABEAU., 


sleep from her eyes. She sought a respite from 
her unhappiness in her gardens, and the society 
of her favorite friend, the Duchess Julie de Poli- 
gnac and the latter’s sister-in-law, Countess Diana. 
Marie Antoinette attached herself to these ladies 
of her court from a sincere feeling of friendship ; 
and, next to the Princess de Lamballe, they en- 
joyed her confidence and love. Julie de Polignac 
had lately received the title of duchess, which the 
queen’s friendship obtained for her, and also the 
position of governess to the royal children of 
France, so that she was permanently attached to 
the court. Thus Marie Antoinette was associated 
with her in a double interest : she had opportuni- 
ties for a more confidential and less ceremonious 
intercourse with her chosen friend, and at the 
same time could exert a personal influence in the 
education of her children. And it was the amia- 
ble character of the duchess, so like that of the 
queen, that induced the latter:to make her a con- 
In the midst of 
court intrigues, the queen earnestly desired a true 
bond of friendship, and it declared in favor of her 


fidante and companion for life. 


own heart, that she chose a woman of such simple 
and unassuming manners as the Duchess de Po- 
lignac. 

A most happy familiarity existed between the 
queen and her favorite, who was a source of con- 
solation to her patroness in the days of care and 
anxiety during the process against the Cardinal 
de Rohan. 
from the duchess, to whom she could tell all her 


She could not bear to be separated 


sorrows and the most secret emotions of her 
heart. Her friend united to a sympathizing ten- 
derness a cheerful temper, and a talent to with- 
draw the queen from her sadness and tormenting 
fears. This was especially Julie de Polignac’s 
task now, as they walked in the gardens of Saint- 
Cloud, when the Parliament of Paris, in full ses- 
sion, were preparing to pass sentence on the 
accused. . 

Marie Antoinette had arisen before day, and, 
after making her morning toilet in great haste 
and without assistance, she passed quickly into the 
park, to meet the duchess at the appointed ren- 
dezvous. Julie and her sister-in-law Countess 


A MORNING AT SAINT-CLOUD. 


Diana, who was on a visit, were on the terrace 
ready to receive their unhappy sovereign. 

“Ts it not very cruel on my part,” said the 
queen, heartily embracing her friends, “that I 
have deprived such lovely eyes of their right to 
finish their morning slumber? But they are 
looking at me as cheerfully and consolingly as 
‘ever, and that is what I desire; for your friend 
Marie Antoinette is overwhelmed with grief!” 

“The morning is fair, your majesty,” replied 
the duchess, in her melodious voice, ‘‘and there 
are no sorrows in these peaceful groves. Why 
should you not be happy in this fragrant air ? 
If your majesty will do us a favor, and read in our 
eyes the petition we dare not express, it is that 
you would once more be yourself; despise the 
blind judgment of the people, and be thoroughly 
convinced that the sacredness of your person will 
at last affect the whole nation, and be joyfully 
recognized.” 

“No,” replied the queen, bowing her usually 
haughty head in sadness upon her bosom, “this 
confidence I have long lost. I came to France 
with this expectation, and intended to win the 
love and gratitude of the people; but I begin to 
feel that the secret discord existing between my- 
self and my subjects is assuming a power grieyv- 
ing and alarming me. 
when I think of what is taking place in Paris. 
All the night long I was troubled with tears as I 
lay upon my sleepless couch. I am lost, if the 
Parliament absolves the cardinal.” She took 
an arm of each of the ladies between whom she 
was walking, and went toward the pavilion, upon 
which the first rays of the sun were shining. As 
she sat down to enjoy the prospect revealed by the 
early morning, she seldom appeared more lovely, 
notwithstanding the sorrow with which her heart 
was overflowing. The manners of the court were 
forgotten by herself and her companions, who 
accompanied her with a natural and heart-felt 
sympathy. 

“ On looking at your majesty,” said the lively 
and intellectual Countess Diana, ‘‘the happiness 
and power of beauty may be almost worshipped ; 
and those who can associate evil thoughts with 


This day I am appalled 





103 


you must be criminal. I pray you to be as cheer- 
ful as you owe it to yourself.” 

“You are as amiable as usual, good countess,” 
“ But 


you have a stronger mind than I have; you are 


replied the queen, kissing the lady’s brow. 


engaged in pursuits of literature and science, and 
have to do with studies of which I have never 
even dreamed. I am really obliged to my sister- 
in-law, the Countess d’Artois, for giving you a 
few days’ leave of absence, to stay here in Saint- 
Cloud with us. 
such society about her at all times.” 


She is to be envied in having 


“If your majesty strengthens our Diana in her 
learned caprices, we are undone!” exclaimed the 
“ Notwithstand- 
ing her youth and beauty, she is already a walk- 


duchess, in a bantering banner, 


ing library; I have no doubt that soon we shall 
see her appear in a head-dress composed of 
books fragrant of past centuries. See, there is a 
volume actually visible from behind her fan, with 
which she is trying to conceal it!” 

“We have caught her, and if it be a question- 
able book, we must ridicule her,” exclaimed the 
queen, who seemed to have regained her cheer- 
fulness, 
and until now had concealed, was seized by Marie 
Antoinette to ascertain the title. After reading 
the name, she replaced it carefully on the table, 


The volume which Diana had brought, 


covering it again with the countess’s fan, indica- 
ting an uncomfortable dislike for it. 

“It is a French translation of Homer’s Iliad,” 
said Diana, blushing, and lowering her eyes. “ Can 
Father Homer, the greatest and best of poets, not 
find favor in the mind of an enlightened queen? ” 

Marie Antoinette laughed, but made a motion 
to reject the book with her beautiful hand: “ No, 
no, for the sake of all the saints, spare me your 
Homer! " From all I have heard of him it is my 
opinion that his Trojan heroes do not concern us 
in this country. They cannot pay court to us; 
we cannot expect them to join even in a tolerable 
contra-dance for our amusement, and we must 
say fi donc / when they roast a whole ox and con- 
sider it their greatest enjoyment. Do you give 
me credit for having made some acquaintance 
with your ancient friend, countess ?”’ 


104 


“And I will sing you a song to show Diana 
how wel] I also have studied her poet,” exclaimed 
the duchess, gayety and raillery laughing in her 
brown eyes. She arose, and, standing in the 
centre of the pavilion in a ludicrous position, 
sang in the manner of an itinerant begger: 
“Homer was blind and played the hautboy.” * 
Then she began a burlesque dance, executing it 
with such success, that Marie Antoinette was 
forced to laugh. 

“Yes, you are right, let us be merry,” cried 
Marie Antoinette, accompanying the duchess in 
“Let us think of nothing but amuse- 
ment and nonsense,” continued the queen, with a 
“ Sad- 
ness, reflection, literature, and all that, must be 
Shall it not 


her dance. 
sort of wild levity beaming in her eyes. 


banished from the court of France! 
be so, my dear friends ? ” 

The young Countess Diana was in such confu- 
sion, that the duchess, who could not bear to see 
any one’s feelings hurt, approached her and kind- 
ly took her hand, repeatedly kissing her while 
Then, 
turning to the queen, she said: ‘ Your majesty 


making the most tender protestations. 


must ‘not quite despise my Diana and her learn- 
ing! She is a dear, good child, and, what is 
' more, can invent and practise as many foolish 
pranks as either you or I. She intended to read 
to you something from her dear old Homer, at 
sunrise, to cause your majesty to forget the silly 
Was not that a 
freak suitable to your programme of nonsense ? 


process against the cardinal. 


She has interviews with other old people, as I 
will betray to your majesty. She is most tender- 
ly attached to a certain Virgil, who has written 


eclogues, and even a poem on agriculture, in which © 


every thing is, no doubt, very pastoral and proper. 
She read to me from that old master, and I ex- 
hausted two vials of my finest perfumes when 
she transported me among his lowing cattle.” 
The queen laughed, and, kissing the countess, 
said: “ You shall read that to us when we are all 


assembled at my farm at Trianon. Then I will 





* Composed by the Duchess de Polignac, in imitation 
of a song of the times: ‘“‘ Zon pére était aveugle et 
jouait du hautbois.’’—Campan, vol. i., p. 147. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


compare your poetical descriptions with the. reali- 
ty. Iam sure I shall like your Virgil, and I am 
glad when I think that ancient poets extolled the 
country. In fact, how happy might we be in this 
sad world, for every thing from the hands of Na- 
ture is good and beautiful! I consider it a favor- 
able sign of the times that my subjects are try- 
ing to return to primitive modes of life, throwing 
off more and more the follies of mere conven- 
tionality, and again becoming an agricultural peo- 
ple. I can almost regain my faith and confi- 
dence, and think that all will end well, however 
dark and threatening these transient days may 
be!” The queen again became grave, and her 
sweet countenance grew thoughtful and melan- 
choly. She seated herself on the green bank, 
resting her head on her arms, and fell into deep 
meditation. ‘If I only knew why I am so little 
loved in France!” she exclaimed, clasping her 
hands, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘* What 
have I done, that I see none but persecutors in 
my path—that I experience estrangement and 
hatred where I hoped for gratitude and attach- 
ment? The nation despises me—I feel it more 
and more every day; and yet I gave to it my 
whole heart. I thought Frenchmen were men of 
honor—cavaliers—who would at least do justice 
to the woman, if not to the queen. But their 
slanders reach me in my most sacred relations 
as a woman, and thus embitter the joyful prac- 
tice of my duties as a queen. Oh, I am often 
sorrowful when I think that I stand in such an 
unhappy position in reference to my people!” 
“No!” exclaimed the duchess, with enthusiasm, 
“you are loved, queen! I am bold enough to 
remind you of that speech of Marshal de Brissac, 
whose sentiments reéchoed in the heart of every 
Frenchman. It was at your public entry into the 
capital, after your marriage with the dauphin 


was concluded. Pointing to the people that were 


crowding at the feet of your majesty, the govern- 
or of Paris said to you, in chivalrous devotion: 
‘Madame, you behold on yonder square two hun- 
dred thousand lovers, in rapture with your beau- 
ty. And I could cite many such scenes, where 
the people met your majesty with an unquestioned 


THE PARLIAMENT 


regard, and were glad to receive a smile from 
your charming lips.” 

“So much the worse for me, that I have lost 
this favor, and without knowing how, or by what 
error!” sighed the queen. “You have not re- 
minded me of that day in my life in a very happy 
manner ; for was it not followed by that terrible 
disaster, when at the fireworks the crowd became 
so fearfully uncontrolled that there were more 
than four hundred dead and wounded? I am 
beginning to understand many of the omens of 
my royal entry into France, and which have been 
80 maliciously explained by the satirical songs of 
my enemies.” 

“But there are also poems written in praise of 
your majesty,” said the countess, kneeling at the 
feet of the highly-excited queen. Who knows 
not by heart that of Voltaire on the beauty, amia- 
bility, and generosity of the best of queens? * 
And he was one to whom little was sacred on the 
' altar or the throne, but whose proud spirit was 

obliged to confess itself conquered by your 
charms.” 

“ You are endeavoring to console me with those 
precious reminiscences, and I thank you!” ex- 
claimed Marie Antoinette, rising hastily and lead- 
ing the countess with her. “Memory is Often a 
very useful endowment, helping us to pass lightly 
away from the disagreeable present; but the 
danger of to-day is too great for my poor beating 
heart. A few faded flowers from the past can 
Advise 
me, how can we pass the intervening time until 
we receive news from Paris, and learn how the 
suit has ended ?” 

“An idea occurs to me, your majesty: let us 
anticipate all, and drive immediately to Paris!” 
said the duchess, thoughtfully. “There we must 
see whether we can do any thing to turn the scale 
in our favor. We shall certainly reach the city 
long before the commencement of the Parliamen- 
tary session, and will have time to enter into 
confidential conversation with some of the mem- 
bers, among whom I have at least three good 


give me no balm for these fresh wounds, 





* “Mémoires de Weber,” vol. i., p. 46. 





AND THE QUEEN. 105 


friends. 
can send for these gentlemen, and give them a 


As soon as we arrive at the Tuileries we 


hint of the just wishes of your majesty. - What 
do you say to my proposal ?” 

“J think it is excellent!” exclaimed the queen, 
in a lively manner. “Ah, Iam so helpless and 
undecided, that it seems like a light shining in the 
darkness and uncertainty of my mind. The king 
will be engaged all day at Versailles; and, al- 
though I would not take a single important step 
in this business, he would not be ‘angry with me, 
if, to allay the torture of my heart, I attempt to 
discover beforehand the inclination of the Parlia- 
ment. Opinions may be influenced, and as my 
honor and reputation depend on this high judg- 
ment, no one can blame me for anxious curiosity. 
We ought to have moved in this affair before; 
and yet the king, who thinks too nobly, hopes to 
obtain a favorable decision on account of the jus- 
tice of our cause and the conscientiousness of the 
judges.” 

“Then I will hasten into the palace, and order 
all preparations for your majesty’s departure,” 
said Countess Diana. 

“Yes, hasten, I entreat you!” replied the 
queen. “The fleetest horses must immediately 
be harnessed, for I intend to pass the distance 
from Saint-Cloud to Paris in a shorter time than 
has ever been known before. Both of you must 
accompany me, my friends; I feel well only in 
your society, and at your side I shall have some 
courage to act in the presence of my enemies.” 

Countess Diana’s slender figure almost flew 
with the orders of the queen to the castle, while 
Marie Antoinette, leaning on the arm of the 
Duchess Julie, walked slowly along the park 
avenue, 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE PARLIAMENT AND THE QUEEN. 


THE greatest excitement prevailed the whole 
day among all classes of Paris. They awaited 
the decision of the Parliament in the cause of the 


106 


accused cardinal with feverish suspense, manifest- 
ing itself in every street and square of the capital. 
Since early morning, more than ten thousand 
persons, composed of every rank, stood before 
the palace where the sessions were held, and be- 
sieged all the entrances, Some of the people pen- 
etrated into the halls and antechambers, in order 
to be the first to learn the sentence. 

The prisoners in the Bastile had been taken to 
the Conciergerie during the night by the officers 
of the Parliament; and the public heard with 
special satisfaction that Cardinal de Rohan was 
treated with the consideration due to his high 
birth and position, being confined in the cabinet 
of the principal recorder of the prison, under the 
The 
examination began at eight in the morning, and 


guard of the royal lieutenant of the Bastile. 


was not ended when the evening approached, 30 
that the people became impatient. Sometimes a 
rumor from the interior of the hall of justice 
would reach the anxious crowd, when it could be 
observed how every thing relating to the person 
of the cardinal was received with the greatest 
sympathy. The senior president permitted M. de 
Rohan to be seated during his examination, be- 
cause he seemed to be very uncomfortably affect- 
ed at the beginning of the trial, his countenance 
A fter- 
ward, however, he spoke almost half an hour 


turning pale and his knees trembling. 


with great eloquence and force, answering the 
questions addressed him by the president with 
a dignity and clearness undeniably proving his 
When he concluded, he bowed to the 
judges and counsellors, who arose at his saluta- 


innocence. 


tion, returning it respectfully—a proceeding with- 
out precedent in the case of one accused before 
that tribunal, 
cidents of the court were received and rumored 


The preliminary affairs and in- 


among the masses in the street with shouts of 
joy. Many ardent exclamations of regard for 
the cardinal were heard, showing without doubt, 
and remarkably, which side the people had chosen, 
and on what grounds they desired to have the 
accused declared innocent and formally released. 

A travelling-carriage, laboriously continuing 
its route through one of the streets near the pal- 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


ace, was finally forced to desist from the strug- 
gle with the crowds pressing against it on all 
sides. It was driven into a gateway standing 
conveniently open, while the passengers deseended 
to attempt a way through the surrounding mul- 
titude. 
on this day returning to the French capital, re- 


One of these was Mirabeau, who was 


called by the encouragements he received from 
Madame de Nehra, as to the results of her mis- 
Henriette, with the faithful Chamfort, 
had gone even as far as the barriére, to receive 


sion. 


and accompany him to Paris, as in a sort of 
triumph; for they rejoiced not only that they had 
regained their friend, but had the satisfaction of 
knowing that by their successful efforts he was 
released from his old bonds—from all that had 
oppressed his life, and could return to Paris as a 
freeman. Mirabeau gave Henriette his arm to 
conduct her through the restless crowd engaged 
in shouting and gesticulating against both the 
court and the queen. Chamfort followed near, to 
aid in protecting Henriette. Little Coco, the in- 
separable travelling companion of Mirabeau, whom 
he had brought back from London, remained with 
his nurse in the carriage, until the streets became 
passable. 

“My return to Paris could not have been cele- 
brated with more congenial music than these 
noisy voices of the people!” said Mirabeau, al- 
lowing himself to be pressed forward by the 
crowd, taking good care of Henriette, whom he 
pressed close to himself. He was endeavoring to . 
gain the route leading immediately to the Parlia- 
ment-house, to be near the events transpiring, in 
which he was deeply interested, after Chamfort 
had related to him what was going on. “TI love 
to see the people,” said Mirabeau, looking eagerly 
about him, and breathing deeply. “ Nothing to 
me is so grand as an excited crowd. They re- 
mind one of the future—they are like a vast field 
preparing for the hand of the sower, and the 
deeper the soil is ploughed and enriched the 
greater the harvest to be expected.” 

“This sounds rather aristocratic-revolution- 
ary!” cried Chamfort. “A count with such no- 
ble ancestors must be a somewhat different friend 


THE PARLIAMENT AND THE QUEEN. 


of the people than myself, born in a hut, Your 
Countess Yet-Lee, however, has freed you from 
the arrogance of your father the marquis. With 
her beautiful eyes, which even a minister could 
not withstand, she obtained a new order from the 
king, that gives you the freedom of your person, 
and protects you from the power of the head of 
Inhale then the breath of the peo- 
ple, and (if I also may speak figuratively) exhale 


your family. 


it as a flame to set France on fire!” 

Mirabeau and Henriette laughed heartily at 
these remarks, made in a very serious manner. 

“ Henriette has conferred many favors on me,” 
said Mirabeau, glancing tenderly at her, “ but 
now she has surpassed herself. On account of 
her personal appearance, which has an indescri- 
bable je ne sais quoi, even the severe mind of the 
Baron de Breteuil was turned in my favor, and I 
am really grateful to this minister. Nevertheless, 
I cannot appear as his partisan in this place to- 
‘day. Whatever right there may be in the in- 
trigue he has contrived to bring against the car- 
dinal, I do not desire to see M. de Rohan con- 
demned. Although I entertain not the slightest 
sympathy for this enamoured prince of the 
Church, I have a great desire to see him honor- 
ably acquitted !” 

“Bravo!” cried a man dressed in a blue blouse, 
who had been pressing behind them for some 
time, and, observing them attentively, tapped 
“You look 
like a man of rank, yet your intentions are good. 


Mirabeau’s shoulder approvingly. 


We desire the cardinal’s innocence, because that 
will declare the queen’s guilt.” 

“And what interest have you in finding the 
queen guilty?” asked Mirabeau, returning the 
greeting of the man in a polite manner. 

“She is proud and haughty toward the people 
—she despises us as of no account and contempt- 
ible, while she herself is mean and hypocritical ! ” 
exclaimed the man, an angry and resentful ex- 
pression deforming his face. ‘My wife washes 
for the park gardener at Versailles, and, happen- 
ing to be there on the day in question, she gos- 
siped too long, and found herself belated in the 
garden. She says she is certain that it was the 





107 


queen who granted the cardinal an interview in 
My wife never tells falsehoods, and is 
ready to take an oath as to the truth of her asser- 


the grove. 


tion,” 

“If your wife is handsome, we must receive 
her declaration without an oath,” said Chamfort. 
“But I can tell you, my friend, that one of my 
fair neighbors in the Palais-Royal, where I live, is 
said’ to have represented the ‘queen in a most 
whimsical disguise, at that rendezvous. This 
woman’s name is Mdlle. Oliva, who resembles the 
queen from head to foot. From my window I 
have often listened to confidential conversations 
among the companions of Mdlle. Oliva, who rove 
through the Arcades of the Palais-Royal. Thus I 
know that it was an understood thing among 
them ; that she had been hired to play the role of 
queen, to unsettle completely the poor cardinal’s 
brain. For this the artful lady will have to pay 
at the high Parliament.” 

“You appear to side with the court,” replied 
the husband of the laundress, scanning Chamfort 
contemptuously and threateningly. “I suppose 
you are one of those who riot in idleness, while 
the people suffer want, and sometimes starve in 
the midst of their hard work.” 

“No, good man,” said Chamfort, laughing ; ‘I 
work also, and if I am not starving it is because 
my appetite is not so good as yours. I envy you 
your health and strength, and hope you may al- 
ways have a sufficiency to satisfy your hunger, 
and, believe me, you will soon find more than 
enough.” 

The friends were driven further on, and found 
great difficulty in remaining together in the multi- 
tude pushing and swaying continually. They met 
Count d’Entraigues, who, to his great surprise, 
was pressed almost into Mirabeau’s arms, whom he 
immediately recognized, having been forced in 
that direction by a movement in another part of 
the crowd. 

“J take this embrace as a punctual reply to 
the last letter I sent you to London a few days 
ago, Count Mirabeau,” said the mnew-comer, 
warmly shaking hands with Mirabeau and Cham- 
fort. 


‘ 


108 


“T did not receive it; my departure was quite 
sudden, owing to favorable news,” replied Mira- 
beau. “I have just arrived, and we meet already, 
running against each other, as we are borne along 
on the tide of this popular commotion. What has 
become of your work on ‘ Privileges,’ Count d’En- 
traigues ?” * 

“IT was writing to you about it: it is again in 
suspense,” replied the other, an elegant and slen- 
“ I 
will resume it at some future time, when I have 


der man, with a very aristocratic bearing. 


gathered more materials.” 

“On such an occasion as this you can gather 
plenty,” remarked Chamfort. “Is it not so to- 
day that the French people desire nothing more 
ardently than a guilty queen? This expresses an 
abolishment of privileges by a more decided fact 
than any other that you could find. Formerly it 
was a prerogative of the king that he could do 
no wrong; now, as soon as guilt is discovered at 
the fountain of authority—on the throne itself— 

others must suffer; their assumed claims must 
cease to exist, for the same law must be applied 
to all who enjoy special favors. None will hence- 
forth dare to be rich at the expense of his fel- 
low-man.” 

“ That remark is unusually striking and subtle,” 
said Count d’Entraigues, politely. ‘ Much is now 
at stake for the kingdom and the so-called priv- 
ileged classes. The court, however, have this 
time set a rather cynical example concerning 
those recognized prerogatives; for they have 
seized a cardinal, a consecrated dignitary,.who 
formerly had only to give an account to his spirit- 
ual judges; and, like a common criminal, they 
have brought him before a secular tribunal; and 
its judges, obeying their inherent opposition to 
royalty, will avenge the cardinal, by exonerating 
him, thus pronouncing suspicion as to the queen 
—~in fact, her actual guilt.” 

“Then it is supposed in court circles that the 
verdict will be in favor of the cardinal?” asked 
Mirabeau. 

“The queen herself must be intensely anxious,” 





* “ Egsai sur les Priviléges,” by Count d’Entraigues. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


replied Count d’Entraigues, “for very early this 
morning she drove into the city from Saint-Cloud, 
requesting the presence of several of the mem- 
bers of the Parliament to attend her at the Tuil- 
eries. There a long conference took place, in 
which the Duchess de Polignac and her learned 
These 
gentlemen were doubtlessly influenced by the ir- 


resistible beauty and address of the queen, but 


sister-in-law engaged with great interest. 


whether they in their turn can influence others 
remains to be proved. The probability is, that 
the cardinal’s acquittal will be pronounced by a 
smaller majority than was expected.” 

At this moment a noisy exultation was heard 
from the direction of the Parliament-house, and 
reéchoed by ten thousand voices. 

“The sentence must have been pronounced,” 
said Mirabeau, as he and his friends at last found 
themselves in the immediate vicinity of the palace 
of justice. 

The decision had been rendered, and the people 
near the palace, who received the first news, re- 
lated to each other the particulars of the trial, 
accompanying them with renewed cheers, and 
many severe and ungallant remarks, as well as 
moral applications. The cries, “Long live Car- 
dinal de Rohan!” “Justice declares his inno- 
cence!” prevailed, although exclamations against 
the queen were mingled with them, and the ill- 
will and execrations of the public became every 
moment bolder and more undisguised. The state- 
ments rumored everywhere among the people, and 
confirmed by well-known persons present during 
the trial, were, that Prince Louis de Rohan was 
declared innocent by a majority of three; that 
the real deceiver, however, the Countess Lamotte- 
Valois was sentenced to be publicly whipped, 
branded on both shoulders, and imprisoned for 
life; that Count Cagliostro was fully exonerated 
from all blame, and that the other persons in- 
volved should receive greater or less punish- 
ment, according to their supposed deserts. . “ Long 
live the Parliament!” resounded through the 
streets of the capital. 

“The guilt of the queen appears to satisfy the 
crowd—they cry long life to the Parliament of 


-~ 


THE PARLIAMENT 


Paris!” whispered Chamfort to Count d’En- 
traigues. “If only those old institutions were 
better, we would gladly permit them to live. 
Will not the dear people, now crying themselves 
hoarse, require a very different body to represent 
their rights and pretensions? This old Parlia- 
ment seems to have an aversion to its own ex- 
istence, and to avenge itself on its own restorer, 
Louis XVI., who ought to have left it among the 
relics of the feudal age. The members of this 
present court of justice avenge themselves in in- 
sulting the crown and dishonoring the queen. 
The good king ought to have let those institu- 
tions belonging to a dead past go with it! He 
ought long ago to have called the General Estates 
of the nation; and his honest heart, beating for 
the welfare of France, would have been appre- 
ciated.” 

“Tt is true, the throne of France trembles to- 


day!” said Mirabeau, raising his head, and glan- 


cing over the crowded square. ‘ Why should we 
despise this ancient ministration of parliamentary 
law? Has it not gained new honors in fighting 
against royalty ? And the members of the court 
to-day have really behaved well, for, in sentencing 
Lamotte-Valois to the most degrading punish- 
ment, they intend to reflect upon the king’s 
house. To whip and brand a descendant of the 
royal family of Valois is a considerable satire 
upon the worshippers of those in whose veins 
flows the blood of the ancient monarchs of 
France!” 

The crowd separated at the entrance of the 
palace, for a close carriage passed through slow- 


ly, and then took the road toward the Bastile. 


‘It bore away the Cardinal-Prince de Rohan and 


Count Cagliostro, A report spread among the 
astonished people, that it was the special request 
of the queen that both the accused, although ac- 
quitted, should be sent back to the prison, and 
be released only on the next day. Count d’En- 
traigues confirmed the report by repeating what 


~ he had heard in court society—that the queen, 


incited by her hatred of the cardinal, had indeed 
permitted herself to issue an order to that effect, 
preparing an insulting removal for the man to 





AND THE QUEEN. 109 


whom she owed the most humiliating and afilict- 
Marie Antoinette knew 
how to effect this beforehand, in case of the car- 


ing event of her life. 


dinal being discharged, and was well assisted by 
those members openly and secretly devoted to 
her, as the sequel proved. But the revengeful 
queen did not consider that she increased only 
the public triumph of M. de Rohan. This was 
shown upon the first movement of the horses, for 
the prisoners were loudly applauded, and the 
crowd so arranged themselves as to form a kind 
of triumphal procession, escorting the carriage 
to the Bastile. 

Prince Louis de Rohan appeared at one of the 
side-windows, occasionally leaning out, thanking 
with smiles and bows the unceasing and enthusi- 
He was in the full 
costume of ecclesiastic honor, but his robe was 


astic exclamations in his favor. 


of violet, the mourning color of cardinals; his 
breast was decorated with many orders, but his 
pale face, brightening at the voice of populari- 
ty, still bore the traces of painful excitement. 
“The affair might have turned out badly for 
the handsome Prince Louis,” remarked Chamfort, 
as the carriage passed them. “It can easily be 
seen that the queen almost gained her object with 
the gentlemen of the Parliament, for an acquittal 
by a majority of three votes is rather a narrow 
And then they have put him into the 
same vehicle with Count Cagliostro, sending the 


escape. 


proud priest back to the Bastile in the society of 
a notorious charlatan, instead of liberating him 
immediately as a recognition of his innocence.— 
See how the sorcerer makes good use of his op- 
portunity! He endeavors, if possible, to surpass 
his colleague the cardinal in pathos and dignity, 
greeting the people, from the other side of the 
carriage, with the gravity of a prophet, pretend- 
ing to believe that part at least of the public ap- 
plause is for him. He smiles continually in his 
ecstatic manner, and now he graciously lifts his 
plumed hat, as if called upon to express special 
thanks. He actually had the hardihood to ap- 
pear before the high court of the Parliament in 
his magician’s costume.” 

“So that is the world-renowned miracle-per- 


110 


former Cagliostro!” said Mirabeau, observing the 
necromancer with particular attention as he 
passed opposite the party. “I perceive, Henri- 
ette, that in the description you gave me, in your 
charming letter, of your spirit-dinner, you pic- 
tured this person so accurately, that I would have 
immediately recognized him. The appearance of 
the man confirms me in my opinion of him. 
‘Every feature and every motion shows the instru- 
ment of the Jesuits, and nowI have done with 
him. His eyes do not please me—he is a trap- 
per, and all he catches he delivers for a consid- 
eration to the Church.” 

“He might have done something more for his 
pupil Louis de Rohan,” remarked Chamfort, 
when the carriage had slowly passed, accom- 
panied by its cheering escort. ‘ By means of his 
magic arts he introduced to the cardinal the 
queens of ancient times, but he could not exorcise 
the hatred of Marie Antoinette. What did it 
profit M. de Rohan that Cleopatra and Semiramis 
often visited him in secret? The Queen of France 
If I 
had been in Cagliostro’s place, I would have in- 


rejected the lover of fifty, and—that.is all! 


fused a little of the elixir of youth into the poor 
prelate—perhaps that might have assisted him in 
winning the favor of the modern queen.” 

In the distance could now be heard the voice 
of the multitude who had accompanied the car- 
riage as far as the gates of the Bastile; but the 
people would not leavé until the cardinal, after 
extending his hands over them and blessing them, 
disappeared within the gates. 

Mirabeau and Henriette hastened to find their 
carriage, after separating from Chamfort .and 
-D’Entraigues, the latter inviting them to dine at 
his house the following day, and taking no re- 
fusal. Henriette was very impatient to see Coco, 
and as soon as she observed her favorite she hur- 
ried forward to embrace him. They soon passed 
through the now empty streets to their dwelling 
in the Rue de Vaugirard, which Madame de Nehra 
had taken, and arranged with all her usual care 
and taste. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


CHAPTER XVI. 
THE WIFE OF THE MINISTER OF FINANCE. 


Mrraseav had been in Paris several weeks, 
His object in returning to the city was to finish 
an historical and political work, and thus attract 
the attention of the ministry, in order to obtain a 
In his 
restlessness and indecision he at first intended to 


place suitable to his rank and talents. 


return to his native Provence, and take possession 
of Castle Mirabeau, which was at present unin- 
habited, and devote himself wholly to literary 
labor in a retirement he so much needed. He 
hoped, at such a distance from the capital, to be 
able to live on the small annuity allowed him by 
his father, who had finally consented, through the 
mediation of mutual friends, to pay it regularly. 
He was prevented from adopting this plan by the 
illness of Coco, and remained in Paris, where he 
made acquaintances that seemed to him of im- 
portance to his labors and prospects. 

Henriette sat at the bedside of the sick child 
tenderly and anxiously nursing him. For several 
days she had constantly attended him. Mirabeau 
at this time appeared absent-minded and busy, 
spending most of the day abroad, sometimes re- 
turning only at daybreak. After a short but 
kind conversation he was about to depart again, 
hardly seeming to have time to kiss the fevered 
brow of little Coco, when Henriette said, with 
some sensitiveness: ‘‘ You scarcely remember us 
now, Mirabeau. All day you leave us alone; I 
seldom hear your voice, and without it every day 
appears to me void and melancholy; if I must be 
deprived of you much longer in this way, I shall 
certainly become very miserable.” 

“My dear child, you must have patience and 
indulge me,” replied Mirabeau, drawing her hand 
to his lips. “I have entered iuto a new current 
of business, driving me hither and thither, but 
you know there is but one thing that constitutes 
my happiness: to be in your presence, and hold 
your head in my arms. 

“T am not vexed with you,” said Henriette, 


playfully pouting. “Every thing would be well 


— 


THE WIFE OF THE MINISTER OF FINANCE. 


enough if that Claviére had not come to Paris, 
and taken complete possession of you. I do not 
know, but even in London a certain fear troubled 
me whenever he entered our dwelling, and I really 
trembled. Now I can explain this feeling; for 
since he is here you seem to associate with him 
only ! He will draw you away from me altogether, 
Mirabeau.” 

“No, my good child!” exclaimed Mirabeau, 
quickly, but, with visible signs of haste, seizing 
his hat. 
ever alienate me from my Countess Yet-Lee. 


“No Claviére, no angel, no demon, will 


We are united for ever, heart and soul. But, 
believe me, my friend Claviére deserves your con- 
fidence. He has a strong, active nature, and, 
since his arrival in Paris, my ideas have been en- 
larged. I owe him much; in company with him 
I have entered a new course, in which I hope to 
attain my great aims.” * ‘ 

“Claviére has not a very attractive coun- 


tenance,” replied Henriette, in a low voice and 


with downcast eyes. ‘His features quiver, and 
his eyes have a glassy, spectral look—in his pres- 
ence my old habits of the cloister recur to me, and 
We have 
not become happier on his account, and ”—she 
added, blushing, and 


richer! ” 


I secretly make the sign of the cross. 


scarcely audible—‘ no 


“‘ What, not richer !”’ answered Mirabeau, warm- 
ly, replacing his hat on the table, and taking a 
small box filled with gold-pieces from his desk. 
“Look at this! 
here? but, by the good counsels of our Geneva 


Do you know how much was 


friend, the original sum has increased tenfold 
during a few weeks!” 

Henriette shook her head, after casting a slight 
and distrustful glance upon the gold. 

“Do you remember the hundred guineas in 
London that caused us such trouble?” continued 
Mirabeau. “You went for them to my friend 
Elliot; on your return a very singular accident 
happened to you, and the knave Hardy stole the 
money out of your pocket. The English courts, 
however, discharged him on account of insuffi- 
cient proof. But, on the day I left London, I 
found the whole amount among some old rubbish 





lil. 


in a hole in the wall. Luckily I had no immedi- 
ate use for the money, and since my arrival here 
I have other resources; thus I saved a little--an 
accident that never happened to me before—and 
began to speculate, according to Claviére’s ad- 
vice. I bought stock of a newly-organized com- 
mercial company with part of my money, and with 
the rest I make time-bargains, as they are called 
—that is, I deal in stock without really delivering 
any, agreeing to win or lose at a certain time the 
difference of the market-price.” * 

“JT do not understand one word of this busi- 
ness,” said Henriette. ‘But I must say that I 
have no confidence in riches thus,acquired. I do 
not believe that money so handled is apt to re- 
main, It is like the gold in the fairy-tale—some 
day when you come to lay your hand on it, you 
will find nothing but ashes.” 

“Your criticism of my new financial adventures 
is not so bad, my child,” replied the count, laugh- 
ing. ‘But we cannot well avoid the follies of 
the day. Our luck may favor us, and thus we 
may aid others in gaining wisdom. And that is 
the idea of Clavitre and myself— to that we 
devote all our strength and mind. France is 
plunged head and ears into this rage for specula- 
tion. Gambling in various public funds, govern- 
ment loans, commercial stocks, and jobbing of 
every kind, seem to constitute the only life of our 
present society. It is a disease, but I hope the 
country will pass through it. In the mean time, 
the men of progress will fill their pockets—that 
is their duty. Speculation is an epidemic that 
easily seizes every one. We were infected with 
it by the Dutch and English; it has become do- 
mesticated in France, and will run its course. 
The race for money will finally become a race for 
liberty. When all the property of a nation has 
been driven into such channels and evaporated, 
new resources must be opened, and that can be 
done only by social and political freedom. This 
wild speculation is always the forerunner of dan- 
gerous storms,” 


“And what says our friend Chamfort to all 





* Peuchet, ‘‘ Mémoires sur Mirabeau,”’ vol. ii., p. 341. 


112 


this?” asked Henriette, thoughtfully playing 
with the locks of little Coco. 

“Chamfort has gone for several weeks to Au- 
teuil, to visit Madame Helvetius,” replied: Mira- 
beau. ‘His ill-health prevented him, as he in- 
tended, to pay you a farewell visit, and I had al- 
most forgotten to mention his regrets. He does 
not believe in business—he is too idle and 
dreamy an epicure—he is afraid of taking cold 
at the Exchange. On his departure he said to 
Claviére and myself: ‘ You must provide well for 
the financial disease of the French. For myself, 
I will remain the poor Cinderella of the revolu- 
tion, and stay at home guarding the flame of 
liberty. After you have made bankrupts of your 
fellow-citizens, and swindled them out of their 
money, send them to my hearth.’ ” 

Some one rapped at the door, and Etienne Cla- 
viére entered. Mirabeau greeted him with much 
heartiness, while Henriette hardly raised ber eyes, 
finding it difficult to conceal her ill-will toward 
the new-comer, and negligently returning his 
salutation. 

Claviére’s appearance had remarkably improved 
since his residence in the capital. His manners 
were more courteous, or, at least, betrayed an 
intention and effort to produce a more polite 
effect, and his burly figure had gained almost as 
much grace in its movements as it was capable 
of. The barbarian energy expressed in his face 
seemed, however, only to conceal itself behind 
a shrewd diplomatic patience. The democratic 
costume he wore in London, as a political refugee, 
was replaced by a fashionable toilet, and the 
gray, broad-brimmed hat with the red ribbon, 
was succeeded by one of Paris fashion. On en- 
tering, Claviére approached Madame de Nehra, to 
play the graceful gentleman, although she obvi- 
He asked her 
pardon for again depriving her of the society of 


ously sought to escape his notice. 


‘the count, whom he came to conduct to an as- 
sembly of admirers awaiting him. 

Henriette replied, with a sad inclination of her 
head, that she was accustomed to the object of 
his visits, and that all she felt was a little curi- 
osity to ask whither they were going—to a socie- 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


ty for the amelioration of the condition of the 
negroes ? the American Club? a dinner at the 
house of the banker, M. Panchaud ? or a rendez- 
vous of black, white, and gray speculators from 
She uttered these 
questions with such sensitiveness that Clavidre 


every quarter of the globe? 


smiled; and Mirabeau, to appease her, caressing- 
ly took her hand. | 

“ “Tt is quite probable that the count will return 
very late to-night,” said the Genevan, with lurk- 
ing ridicule. “Almost all those you enumerate 
with such charming indignation unite to-day at a 
feast, and Count Mirabeau is indispensable. The 
beneficent society for the blacks, and the Ameri- 
can Club, give a dinner in one of our most mag- 
nificent halls. 


be made, and every one anticipates some eloquent 


Many and important speeches will 


passages from the lips of our friend. It will be 
worth while to attend, for the philanthropists 
who desire the abolition of slavery are to be sus- 
tained by the new Club des Américains, and they 
intend to further such an object with all the 
means at their command. The members of both 
societies wish also to make a collection for the 
promotion of their common purposes. Money 
will not be wanting, for among the guests are the 
most brilliant and best names on the Bourse. 
You are again right—M. Panchaud, my prudent 
countryman, will be there; and among them will 
be several literary characters, and ‘philosophic 
noblemen,’ as Chamfort calls them. Is not this 
an assembly for which a man may, for an hour or 
two, leave his wife and child ?” 

Henriette blushed and smiled, looking up at 
Mirabeau with her recovered good-humor. 

“ And do you know that Calonne will be 
there?” added Claviére, turning with a signifi- 
cant glance to Mirabeau. “I have just left his 
cabinet, and he promised me faithfully to be 
present at the ‘ Club.’” 

“ Ah, that is what we all desire,” exclaimed 
Mirabeau. “By this visit the minister of finance 
will not increase his friends at court or among the 
aristocracy. It is, however, time for him to raise 
his mask a little on that side. 
away the government money by handfuls, like a 


After throwing 


THE WIFE OF THE MINISTER OF FINANCE. 


genial gambler, be must let the king know that it 
can only be regained permanently and with inter- 
est, by a radical reform of the whole state, and 
all belonging to it!” 

“J am laboring for that daily and hourly,” re- 
“And the 
movement is near—it cannot certainly be very 


plied Claviére, with a vulgar grin. 


distant, as I can satisfactorily prove.” 

“Tf it is near, it will be through the efforts of 
an irresistible spirit, named Etienne Claviére !” 
said Mirabeau, smiling. ‘ Really, among all your 
satanic ideas—and you overflow with them—the 
happiest was, that you knew how to make your- 
self private secretary to the minister of finance. 
You have in this way become the secret master 
of the revolution of the state, for which we sigh, 
from day to day, as the farmer for rain on his 
withered field. But why have you not put on the 
uniform of the ministerial officials, since you are 
formally accepted as private secretary of M. de 


Calonne ?” * 


“Tt is not necessary for me to be so punctilious 
as to my official character,” replied Claviére. 
“M. de Calonne has need of me, and therefore 
sought to attach me to his ministry in a suitable 
capacity. Calonneis a man of the world, and has 
perhaps too much wit to occupy himself with 
thorough financial labors ; so for some time I have 
been making his mathematical calculations, when 
they require long and connected reasoning. He 
is well satisfied, and thus I urge him gradually to 
the very point where we desire to see him. 
Yesterday I finished the new financial scheme, 
and immediately delivered it to the minister. 
Many of your ideas, Mirabeau, are mingled in it, 
and I hope you will be satisfied. I have brewed 
a charming drink, that must by its own action 


_ have a powerful effect on the political and social 


— 


mind of France. You will soon see of what use 
is a Geneva banker, like myself, who has thor- 
oughly mastered financial science, and who, be- 
sides his practical skill and business preference, 
is driven by the very demon of state revolution !” 
Claviére burst into boisterous laughter, as was his 





* Condorcet, ** Mémoires," vol, i., p. 227. 
8 





113 


custom when he had expressed himself to his 
satisfaction. . Then he urged Mirabeau to depart 
with him, adding that they must not let the com- 
pany wait, especially as he, Claviére, had under- 
“T am so full 
of malice,” he added, “that I can scarcely retain 


taken to make the opening speech. 


it. If I have to suppress my oration much 
longer, it will burst from my mouth in bright 
flames. Let us go quickly, and assist me in re- 
newing my excuses to Madame de Nehra, that 
her gracious anger may not descend on my de- 
voted head.” 

Quickly taking leave of Henriette, she returned 
their compliments in silence. Seating herself at 
the bedside of the sick Coco, she concealed her 
sorrow in pacifying the crying child. 

Mirabeau and Claviére rapidly passed on 
through the thoroughfares until they reached 
the Boulevard Montmartre, thence to the fau- 
bourg, where, in a remote street, was the edifice, 
surrounded by a garden, which the recently- 
formed club had rented for the purpose of holding 
their meetings. On the way, Mirabeau intention- 
ally turned the conversation to the financial min- 
ister, asking, in rather a decided manner, when 
M. de Calonne intended to arrive at the banquet, 
and whether he would remain. 

“The minister promised to be present at my 
speech,” replied Claviére, “in which I wish to 
criticise all the present tendencies to social re- 
form. I shall try especially to explain that the 
efforts to restore to society liberty and human 
dignity are on a par with those to fill men’s 
pockets with money, and make them all opulent. 
The curiosity of M. de Calonne was excited when. 
I hinted at the points of my speech——he wished 
to know how I could bring this subject to an 
issue; and, although this morning he was suffér- 
ing from the consequences of a night passed’ ia 
dissipation, he promised to attend punctually at 
six o’clock. I made, him give me his word that 
he would remain during the whole banquet, to 
have a fair view of the activity of the minds of 
the present day—a matter instructive and ab- 
We 
shall have such men as Cabanis, Condorcet, Hol 


solutely necessary to a financial minister. 


114 


bach, and Lafayette. 
ideas we shall enjoy ! 


What an exposition of new 

And M. de Calonne has at 
He 
wishes to know what is passing in the sphere of 


least one strong faculty—inquisitiveness. 


thought, and I have made him in some measure see 
it as a duty, telling him that a man in his position 
must make money out of ideas. Ihave therefore 
excited that prominent and by no means uncom- 
mon faculty, which he has inherited from Mother 
Eve, and I hope it may give him knowledge.” 

Mirabeau looked at his watch, standing at the 
corner of a street, and begged permission to take 
leave of Claviére for a short time, remarking that 
they would probably not meet again until toward 
the close of the banquet. 

“Then you will not hear my addréss ?” asked 
Claviére, irritated. 
denly become indifferent concerning subjects of 


“ And why do you so sud- 


which you seemed but just now to express your 
entire approbation ? ” 


“T will certainly appear toward the end of. 


the feast,” replied Mirabeau, smiling, ‘“‘and will 
then have sufficient opportunity to notice the 
effect of your speech. It is not indifference to 
your great eloquence, which no one admires more 
than I, nor insensibility for the great thoughts 
you intend to illustrate, and about which we may 
speak another time; but I must go, for I have a 
rendezvous elsewhere—I must profit by the oppor- 
tunity, cost what it will.” 

“ Now I understand your inquiries in reference 
to Calonne’s visit to the club,” exclaimed Claviére, 
fixing his searching eyes on the count. “ You in- 
But I 
pray you, commit no folly—attempt no intrigue, 


tend to pay a visit to Madame de Calonne. 


into which you may be led simply for its own 
sake, The minister, although the most capri- 
cious and unprincipled man in Paris, is of jealous 
temperament, and watches his wife with the sus- 
picion of a Herod, If he ,has any distrust, you 
assuredly will lose your game with him, and I can 
never revive his interest in you, which may be of 
great advantage!” 

“Tt is my way,” replied Mirabeau, again look- 
ing at his watch, and holding it toward his friend 
that he might see how near six o’clock it was. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


“Go, Claviére, and deliver your address on lib- 
erty, human dignity, full pockets, and all that, or 
on the art of turning the bankruptcy of society 
into resources of wealth. In the mean time, be- 
cause it suits me, I shall pay my visit. Not long 
ago I met Madame de Calonne at a dinner given 
by the Countess de Riancourt; her equipage 
failed to arrive, so I induced her to enter my car- 
riage and had her driven to her residence, You 
know that it is dangerous for any woman thus to 
accompany me.* When we parted, Madame de 
Calonne gave me permission to visit her. You 
know, as well as I, that she and her husband are 
on very bad terms, although it is scarcely two 
months since they celebrated their marriage, and 
I may have much to suggest in view of happier 
connubial relations.” 

“Their wedding-day was very unfortunate!” 
replied Claviére, taking Mirabeau’s arm, and pre- 
paring to accompany the latter a short distance ; 
probably hoping to succeed in inducing the count 
to return, and appear with him in the banquet- 
hall of the club. “The lady was dreadfully in- 
sulted on that day by her husband,” Claviére 
recommenced. “It must have made a strange 
impression, when a bridegroom sat deliberately 
down to a game of ombre, at the moment the 
carriage came to carry him and his bride home. 
He played on with his usual perseverance when- 
ever he handles a card. The parents of the lady 
were confounded, and she herself was ready to 
sink into the earth in her indignation and shame ; 
his friends twitched him anxiously by the sleeve, 
At 
last his mother-in-law plainly asked him to return 


but nothing could divert him from the game. 


home; but he begged to have a few moments 
more, and requested her to descend and enter the 
carriage with her daughter, as he would follow 
immediately. When they had gone he forgot 
them, until the relatives united to drag him for- 
cibly from the room. They even had to carry 
him down and push him into the coach, where he 
met his bride in tears.” + 


“ Yes, that is the incident which has prompted 





* Peuchet, vol. ii., p. 320. 
+ Condorcet, ‘‘ Mémoires,” vol i., p. 230. 


THE WIFE OF THE MINISTER OF FINANCE. 


my favor with Madame de Calonne!” said the 
“ Good-evening, Claviére ; I hope 
to return in time to assist in the advocacy of your 


count, smiling. 


schemes of philanthropy.” 

‘“‘T will not let you off,” replied the Genevan, 
holding Mirabeau’s arm. “You must not play 
the tempter, for it may be detrimental to you in 
important matters at present under consideration. 
If Calonne ill-treated his wife on their wedding- 
day, that gives you no right to speculate on her 
fidelity.” 

“ Claviére as a preacher of morality is really 
quite a comedy!” exclaimed the count, again 
making efforts to free himself from his anxious 
“You, the teacher of the French in all 
arts of speculation—the greatest gambler on the 
Exchange, and who have done more to demoralize 
the people in money matters than any other man 


friend. 


—you are suddenly playing the defender of moral- 
ity !—To please you, and because I hoped to ob- 
' tain a position from the minister, I wrote against 
this singular passion for sudden fortunes by stock 
operations, but you well know I only did so ac- 
cording to your orders, to give a check to the 
business of certain companies, and transfer the 
movements of the Bourse to your hands, by de- 
preciating as much as possible all paper but your 
state-bills.” 

“We know, friend, what you have accom- 
plished, and what your genial pen may yet accom- 
plish, if you enter into our plans,” said Claviére, 
gravely. ‘‘ Your two pamphlets against the bank 
of discount and the Spanish bank, have caused 
quite an excitement, and greatly aided our finan- 
cial operations.* To the minister it was as con- 
venient as agreeable, to have brought to the 
notice of the public certain ideas that he consid- 
ered it right to impress on them, and you have 
executed his wishes in a truly masterly style. 
You may rest assured that he will show his grat- 
itude in a decided manner, provided no folly ‘a la 
Mirabeau’ destroy the existing good understand- 





* “ De la Caisse d’Escompte” (1785); “* Dela Banque 
d’Espagne, dite de Saint-Charles ” (1785); ‘‘ Lettre du 
Comte de Mirabeau & M. le Couteulx de la Noraye” 
(1785). 





115 


ing. Your attacks are masterpieces of financial 
logic, and in a tone of sublime social morality. 
The bank of discount, founded by Turgot, was 
formerly highly meritorious in reference to the 
Its 
business involved large and small amounts from 
all corners of the land, and the dividends in- 
creased enormously; but at length its favor with 
the public so fluctuated that the institution was 
endangered. The mania for stock - gambling 
ruined small capitalists in particular, and Calonne, 


commerce and money-market of France. 


who had been endeavoring to sustain the credit 
of the bank by government laws in its favor, now 
thought best to destroy it. 
pamphlets, my friend, by which you sought to de- 
preciate the stock, both financially and morally. 


Then you wrote your 


You were even stronger in your second pamphlet 
against the Saint-Charles Bank, which the famous 
Cabarrus established in Madrid three years ago. 
This concern pretended to be supported by com- 
mercial enterprises in Caracas and the Philippine 
Islands, just as the banker Law turned into 
money the Mississippi gold-land fever, when the 
anticipated commerce of Louisiana inundated us 
with a flood of bank-bills, threatening to carry 
away all our solid resources. A country like 
Spain, to which flow abundantly the precious 
metals of the New World, sends us paper of no 
value, but which is nevertheless more sought for 
in Paris than in Madrid. The strength of Mira- 
beau dealt mighty blows on ‘the Spanish bank. 
In fact, you revealed the unsoundness of the 
whole financial policy universally adopted, and 
accompanied your argument with a most eloquent 
description of the manners of the present age. 
That isa sad picture indeed of those who ex- 
change real property for paper of whose worth 
and origin they are ignorant, and which serves, so 
to speak, as admission tickets to debtors’ prisons or 
insane asylums. The government has been obliged 
to interfere, for if all capital is to be transmuted 
into these bank-bills, whence is to be derived the 
necessary court revenues? The Spanish bonds 
this day still sell for double their nominal value: 
at the Paris Bourse.” 

“My dear Claviére,” said Mirabeau, laughing, 


116 


“IT see through your noble intentions. You be- 
gin a .broker’s conversation with me to change 
the current of my thoughts. But I cannot help 
you; I only care at present for my contemplated 
visit to the wife of the minister of finance, and I 
do not in the least trouble myself about stocks. 
I have worked enough for them—let me have a 
holiday. I am afraid you employ me and my 
pamphlets in raking out the chestnuts from the 
hot ashes, for your special benefit; and, say what 
you will, you draw considerable profits in negoti- 
ating paper for whose depreciation I have been 
employed. Yes—you and Panchaud, and the 
rest. of the Geneva financiers, who are ploughing 
the revolutionary field of Paris, are feeding your 


friends with the proceeds of a system which I | 


. have been called upon to expose and denounce. 
I am certain that M. de Calonne does so, although 
he surpasses me in his mancuvres to sink the 
paper of the bank of discount. I have lately 
heard, in fact, from some ladies in the Palais- 
Royal, that he makes them presents of candies 
wrapped in the bills of that establishment.” * 

An equipage passed at this moment, in which 
sat a gentleman whom Claviére greeted politely, 
and Mirabeau also lifted his hat. “M. de Ca- 
lonne!” said Claviére, laughing. ‘He has a very 
keen ear, and it is possible he may have over- 
heard the words ‘ candies’ and ‘ bills !’” 

_ “J will relate this story to his wife,” replied 

Mirabeau. ‘“ And, now, my friend, hasten to the 
banquet; for you see your minister is punctual, 
and you must not let him wait for your speech, 
intended to make all mankind happy. I shall 
arrive soon enough to say a few words myself.” 
Mirabeau and Claviére separated, going in differ- 
ent directions. 


CHAPTER XVII. 
THE BANQUET OF THE AMERICAN CLUB, 


Tue philanthropic assembly in the large and 
brilliant hall was numerous, and graced by the 





«4 M. de Calonne tout entier,” par M.C .... 
(Carra), Bruxelles, 1788. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


presence of many distinguished guests, even from 
the higher classes. The entrance of the minister 
of finance made quite a sensation. Many sur- 
rounded him, with congratulations, pretending to 
pay him homage in flattering allusicns to the 
success attending his recent financial operations. 
Others remained at a distance with visible re- 
serve, avoiding any probability of introduction. 
Calonne, however, with the tact he possessed in 
perfection, endeavored to approach those who, 
not without design, seemed to shun him. In this 
group were Cabanis and Condorcet, toward whom 
the minister advanced with great cordiality. 

The Marquis de Condorcet received M. de 
Calonne rather coolly, holding himself erect, and 
scarcely touching the hand extended to him; but 
this did not in the least disturb the minister, who 
was determined to have some friendly discourse 
with these men. On the contrary, he began to 
converse with his usual versatility, all he said 
sparkling with wit; even Condorcet, who was this 
evening more than ever taciturn, found his icy 
reserve melting away before he was aware of it. 

“My object in coming here was to meet such 
friends as the Marquis de Condorcet!” said the 
minister, in his courtier manner, and with great 
geniality. ‘Tell me, marquis, may a poor finan- 
cial operator, who becomes poorer as he makes 
more money, reckon on the approval of such su- 
perior minds? You are happy in your intellect- 
ual empire, where you have no currency but 
thought, and all requirements are satisfied by an 
exchange of ideas—there you have no deficit! 
You philosophers take good care that in your sys- 
tem all is well balanced, and that reason shall not 
accumulate debt upon debt, and loan upon loan, 
upon mere supposition, as a financial minister of 
France is forced to do. 

It was difficult, even to the measured and 
straightforward Condorcet, to withstand alto- 
His broad, 
thoughtful brow began to show a little more 


gether such charming urgency. 


friendliness, and the face of the marquis expressed 
a shade less of contempt. ‘“ We mathematicians 
and philosophers,” he replied, smiling slightly 
and even rather good-naturedly, “do not trouble 


THE BANQUET OF THE AMERICAN CLUB. 


ourselves so much about errors in our calcula- 
tions, because the people do not suffer starvation 
as the immediate consequence. Financial min- 
isters have in this respect a much harder task to 
perform. There is, however, a very good prov- 
erb: ‘The pitéher is carried to the well until it is 
broken!’ We shall soon discover whether the 
pitcher we mean is made of indestructible gold, 
as it is said to be, and in which are treasures for 
every court official, if he will only receive them. 
Perhaps, when we see the fragments, we may re- 
mark better on the material out of which your 
money is manufactured. The present scheme of 
finance, encouraging, as it does, all sorts of gam- 
bling, and disturbing an honest and reasonable 
desire for profit, introduces a vast amount of mis- 
chief into our society.” 

“Bravo!” cried Calonne, clasping his hands. 
“Can we desire any thing better, my dear friend?” 
His refined and pleasant countenance beamed 
with an expression of humor, generally containing 
a slight sting of satire, and used with such art 
that it was not quite clear for whom it was in- 
tended. There was, however, considerable attrac- 
tion in his manner and appearance. He was at 
this time in his fifty-first year; but his tall, slen- 
der figure and highly-polished manners made the 
impression of a much youngerage. His conversa- 
tion often suggested that he was a pleasant-tem- 
pered vouvé—one, moreover, who conceded every 
thing, from mere indifference and indisposition to 
disagree, 

The minister passed quickly to another group, 
after having spoken a few courteous words to 
Cabanis, inquiring ina flattering manner about 
the success the latter had obtained in his medical 
practice since his removal from Auteuil to the 
French capital. 

It began to be more lively in the brilliantly 
lighted and decorated ball. Cabanis looked with 
thoughtful and melancholy eyes at the symbols 
and standards ornamenting the ceiling and walls, 
among which were insignia belonging to the two 
associations united for this evening. In the 
centre was a large portrait of Washington, a pres- 
ent from Lafayette. Over it waved the American 





117 


flag, with its thirteen stars. On both sides of 
this fine likeness were pictures, exhibiting megroes 
undergoing punishment, in positions of entreaty, 
or prostrated beneath the lash. Each embellish- 
ment was surrounded by an American and a 
French flag, having an important meaning of 
union and friendship. 

“The walls tell terrible tales!” said Cabanis 
to Condorcet, as arm in arm they promenaded 
through the hall. 


with a painful feeling, and challenge every man 


“Those slaves impress me 


to do his best, that such dark accusations against 
humanity may cease! But if we wish to make 
fair and happy all that is black in our present 
society, we must go beyond these ‘puristes libé- 
rauz, as the gentlemen of the American club call 
themselves.* Purification in their sense is wash- 
ing the negro white, and that is known to be 
rather an unsuccessful business in this world. It 
is nothing more than a philanthropic delusion, 
which in my opinion is of a piece with the finan- 
cial administration of the charming M. de Calonne, 
who has just honored us with his gracious notice. 
Such whitewashers are worse than the slavehold- 
ers. And we, my friend Condorcet, what color 
are we striving to obtain ?” 

“Oh,” replied the marquis, with gravity, “we 
must strive to be tyrannized by no particular 
shade; for there is illusion in every color, and, 
so long as we are controlled by it, we endure 
untruth and injustice. Let us return to Nature, 
as our Jean Jacques Rousseau advised us—all 
healthful development is the result. In her so- 
Whatever 


she represents herself to be, she really is, and 


ciety we rest free from all deception. 


whatever is offered we may take and enjoy with- 
out question. Those ideas of social happiness 
with which the priesthood and the monarchy have 
so long amused us have very little practical ex- 
istence. One fact remains—the world progresses, 
That is why I 


was so glad, Cabanis, when you began to trans- 


but only in and through Nature. 


late Homer. You will make the French acquaint- 


ed with an old poet, who sang about the only true 





* Challamel, ‘* Histoire-Museé dela République fran 
caise ” (Paris, 1842), v. i., p. 28. 


we, 


system of human life, showing that king and peo- 
ple, religion and state, liberty and custom, have 
We 
The greatest 


their origin in the same beneficent source. 
have need of that ancient author. 
satisfaction I have ever had is, that we have com- 
menced to write on the same subject: the indis- 
soluble union of the physical and moral nature of 
man!” 

Cabanis pressed his friend’s hand, saying, in a 
low voice: “ All we can do now is to record this 
new gospel. It is not exactly the right way to 
begin, for it should be preached to men from 
the housetops, that they must renounce what is 
artificial, if they intend to attain and enjoy the 
object of their existence. If we once liberate 
man from the unnatural in politics and religion, 
we put him in possession of all liberty. Of course, 
it is a humiliation that such men as we can only 
use our corrosive ink to unloose the chains of our 
fellow-men. I often become irritated in the midst 
of my labors at the superstitions of society, and 
prefer to visit my indigent patients, believing that 
there is something more real and noble in curing 
some poor cobbler’s wife of a fever.” 

“Excellent, doctor!” cried a jovial voice be- 
hind them, and Cabanis felt a friendly tap on his 
shoulder. He turned and saw Baron d’Holbach, 
' who welcomed his friends and colleagues with 
hearty greeting. 

“ Ah,” said Cabanis, smiling, “even Baron 
d’Holbach does not disdain to appear here! It 
must mean something that we thus assemble; the 
lieutenant of police will certainly discover a dan- 
gerous tendency somewhere.” 

‘“‘ My good friends, I have only come to give my 
mite for the emancipation of the slaves, and inci- 
dentally to hear any new idea that may find ut- 
terance,” replied Baron d’Holbach, in his usual 
happy mood. ‘You know I am always suffering 
from lack of news. The world is becoming more 
tedious. The 
eyes of the old ‘philosopher beamed with a curi- 


What are the latest rumors?” 


ous expression, that might have been somewhat 
gloomy if so much real kindness had not mingled 
with it. 
almost approaching the patriarchal style; yet, 


His appearance was plain and simple, 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


without apparent contradiction, the cheerful man _ 
of the world might be seen in all his deportment 
—a fact of which his well-nourished person gave 
The celebrated thinker, so much 
feared in his day, could be discovered in his high 


good evidence. 


brow, on which appeared inexorable decision and 
audacity. 

“Tf you desire any thing new you must dis- 
cover it yourself,” replied the Marquis de Condor- 
cet. “For all that we hear is old. A large as- 
sembly, however, seldom think, and the longer 
they remain the more thoughtless they become.” 

** But you will find something new at the table,” 
said Holbach. “And I really feel consoled in 
noticing the preparations. To eat and to think 
are one and the same operation—the only differ- 
He 
that eats continually reproduces himself, and the 


ence being that the organs are dissimilar. 


better you dine the more profoundly you think. 
All spiritual ideas are gradually absorbed with 
good food into the physical organism, and my own 
well-conditioned body is the real pantheon of 
ideas.” 

“This application which you make of your 
celebrated system always pleased me, on account 
of your personal amiability,” replied Cabanis. 
“Your book has had influence—it is indeed a 
fountain whence we draw most of our ideas, and 
I hope our greatest deeds also will be accredited 
to it. Really, Baron d’Holbach, if the gay Abbé 
Galiani called you ‘ steward of philosophers,’ it is 
not because of your Sunday dinners, with which 
for years you have regularly entertained your 
thinking and eating friends, but on account of 
your ‘Systéme de la Nature’ as well as your other 
writings. They are to the world as a hospitable 
and pleasant inn, so to speak, in which mind (and 
mind is matter) feeds itself from already pro- 
At 
best, mind is a result of matter manifesting it- 


vided resources, and just as it is convenient. 


self in ideas.” 

“We shall not be surfeited with good things 
to-night,” remarked Cabanis, dryly, calling atten- 
tion to the dishes. 
dinary fare, and to a higher mind, accustomed to 
the dainties at Holbach’s table, they give’ little 


“T see nothing but very or- 


THE BANQUET OF THE AMERICAN CLUB. 


promise of ideas. Who ean originate great 
thoughts from sour-krout ? 
scription are, however, in Paris, not always the 


Banquets by sub- 


choicest, and I see many men of Holbach’s school 
present, who will suffer terribly in the process of 
thinking. It would be some consolation if this 
feast were quickly begun and ended.” 

‘“‘T hear that the hosts are waiting for Etienne 
Claviére,”’ replied Condorcet. 
losopher, and is to make the opening address. No 
doubt he has been belated at the Bourse, for he 
is the secret agent of Calonne, and attends to all 


“He is also a phi- 


the financial and other swindles his master under- 
takes. This whimsical man has no doubt many 
good traits, but his rough manner has something 
so bloodthirsty about it that it always makes a 
It is said that he 
is also paid by the English ministry for the part 
he acts here. 


mysterious impression on me. 


He is the principal spring in the 
stock-gambling machinery at work in Paris, and, 
uniting deeper plans with it, he aims to produce 
anarchy in our whole social fabric; but I do not 
trust him; he is no Frenchman, and I do not like 
to see foreign hands tampering in our affairs.” 
“If be desires anarchy, he is as welcome as 
one of ourselves!’ said Holbach, smiling com- 
plaisantly. ‘‘ You will remember that anarchy, 
as the real principle of life, I have preached in 
my work on Nature. Repulsion and attraction 
constitute anarchy in all its phases, more or less 
active. 
both the physical and the moral worlds live and 
maintain their equilibrium; for all laws originate 
and are valid by force of some sort—their ele- 
ments must fight and be fought against, before 
what we call law rests on any sure foundation. 
Perhaps this Claviére may be a pupil of your old 
Holbach. I have often asked you, Cabanis, to 
bring him to my house some Sunday to dinner.” 
“He belongs to that class of people whom you 
can seldom secure,” replied Cabanis. ‘Other- 
wise, your hospitable dinners, that for thirty years 
have made Sunday in Paris a feast of mind, would 
have attracted him. He is a dismal fellow, but 
he knows every movement in the market as well 
as the value of every bank-bill, for he trades in 


That is the only condition by which- 





119 
them with the activity of a demon. Such men 
are seldom docile—they are bad pupils, and they 
rush into experiment, sometimes deceiving, and 
sometimes being deceived.” 

“JT do not see Count de Mirabeau,” remarked 
Holbach, holding up his eye-glass and glancing 
around on those present. “He positively prom- 
ised to meet me here. I know he is your hero, 
Cabanis; you not only love but study him, and in 
your new philosophic researches, which I expect 
to be more progressive than mine, you look to 
such a hero of human nature as we see represent- 
ed physically and mentally in Mirabeau. He is 
the man of nerve; and I hear you advocate the 
principle, that every thing is only nerve—that all 
ideas are the production of the senses, and that 
thoughts are formed in the brain because it is 
the centre of the nervous system.* I compre- 
hend how Mirabeau has been your model for 
this explanation of human nature. I have never 
seen a man so highly organized and gifted; and 
if France, in her present effeminacy, is destined-to 
witness great deeds, he will be the one by whom 
they are to be accomplished.” 

“ You do not appreciate him too extravagantly, 
but you do more than justice to my own modest 
efforts,” replied Cabanis, a slight blush suffusing 
his usually pale countenance. “ You cannot help 
thinking of such a nature as Mirabeau’s when 
you essay to explain the human organization. 
Truly, in him is nerve: and I have observed that 
it has a reciprocal action with his ideas, and con- 
trols his objects and purposes. I must confess, 
that while engaged in my labors on the physical 
and moral peculiarities of man’s structure, I often 
think of him, although I have lately seen him 
but seldom.” 

‘Well, my dear friends, it all depends on what 
we understand by our terms,” said Baron d’Hol- 
bach. 


the real source and centre of man’s being. If your 


“In my system I consider the stomach as 


stomach is disordered, your nerves and brain re- 
ceive no nourishment, nor do you produce ideas. 
Té will therefore always remain the seat of the 





* Cabanis’s ‘“‘Rapports du Physique et du Moral de 
Homme.” 


120 


human mind; and your philosophy, Cabanis, is 
only a polite style of making all ideas originate 
in the nerves instead of the stomach, which is by 
many considered too grossly material. But mate- 
rialism is the science of the day—the science of 
matter and force—a secret which we have won 
from Nature, because we ventured to confide in 
What says the medi- 
tating Marquis de Condorcet? ” 


and made her our divinity. 


“You know I sympathize with you in your 
more important doctrines,” replied Condorcet, 
“ Stomach, 
nerves, and brain, are the immediate agents of 
life, and what is called mind exists in them only 


awaking from his dreamy silence. 


—no rational man ean dispute that. But you 
forget one important fact, of which I beg to re- 
mind you—that is, development, without which 
humanity, or any thing else, has of course no 
progression.” 

“ Ah,” laughed Holbach, his whole body shak- 
ing, “you will not supplant us in that way! what 
you call development I call digestion. Can any 
He that has 
You 


would elevate the human nature, no doubt, but 


thing under the sun be clearer? 
nothing to digest has no development. 


by your law you provide for it Icarian wings that 
will not bear it to the clouds.” 

“No,” replied Condorcet, in rather an anima- 
ted tone, “the law to which I refer has greater 
power. It reminds man of what has been in his 
history, while you lead him to material Nature. 
He can only become perfect by that growth which 
lies in his will, and without which your machine 
of skin, bone, stomach, and nerves, remains but 
a puppet that has no yes or no. Give mana will, 
and power of progression, and he has at once 
lofty purposes—he mounts the horses of the sun, 
The law of 


progress is so strong, that after its power has 


and reaches the limits of his hopes. 


been fully recognized, he can perform miracles, 
and transport himself beyond the sea, with no 
such wings as you allude to. Materialism is a 
just idea if rightly understood—I admit that. 
Indeed, it involves wonderful facts—it will teach 
men to journey in the air, and, when thousands 
of miles from each other, they will correspond 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


swifter than an eagle’s flight. Every one, as soon 
as he thoroughly comprehends the development 
of which he is capable, will lengthen his life by 
centuries.” * The tall form of Condorcet swayed 
as he spoke, and a deep color suffused his face. 

“M. Etienne Claviére has made his appear- 
ance,” remarked Cabanis, drawing the attention 
of his friends to the short, corpulent, but active 
man entering at the principal door, and quickly 
working his way through the crowd. “The spirit 
of speculation seems to be in a great hurry,” con- 
tinued Cabanis. “ You have a good opportunity 
to notice his importance; he advances with the 
assurance of a harlequin, who knows that with 
his entrance the comedy begins. There is your 
man of strength and matter! Materialism is not 
only the parent of atheism, but also of stock- 
gambling. What do you say to that, Baron 
d’Holbach ?” 

“You know I am always glad to see any thing 
new,” replied Holbach, looking piercingly at Cla- 
viére’s physiognomy. ‘Do I not go from one 
coffee-house in Paris to another to obtain knowl- 
edge? Priests and royalists call us heretics and 
children, because we consider certain human 
functions paramount; and now suddenly appear 
men who see mind in money only, and who wor- 
ship at the stock-board. It is possible that they 
are a worthless rabble, who dissipate all cultiva- 
tion, and who will finally turn society into a horde 
of swindling idlers. We must, however, cauti- 
ously discover what perchance is concealed be- 
hind those men of physical strength — whether 
they have any thing besides their impudence and 
the beggar’s pride—But Claviére is really mak- 
ing a figure. If I were not too old to prophesy, 
I would say: ‘That man will one day become 
minister of finance after France has been revolu- 
tionized.’ + However, let us take our places, and 
sit together, gentlemen, that we may exchange 
our opinions on passing events.” 


The whole assembly, consisting of several hun- 





* Condorcet’s ‘‘Esquisse d’un Tableau Historique 
des Progrés de l’Esprit Humain,”’ a posthumous work. 
+ Etienne Claviére really became financial minister 
in March, 1792, through the influence of Brissot’s party. 


THE BANQUET OF THE AMERICAN CLUB. 


dred persons, took their seats around the table, and 
in considerable excitement, which was greatly 
heightened by the address that Claviére soon de- 
livered, as to the meaning and objects.of the 
night’s festivity. 

Claviére was a brilliant speaker, distinguished 
for bold and new thoughts, striking images, and 
a certain art by which he conquered the heart of 
his audience. He commenced by assuming the 
appearance of a very honest man, speaking of 
the necessitous circumstances of France, and 
Then, 
with a peculiar smile, he made prominent the 


which threatened the peace of society. 


utility of money in the state and among the 
people, because a just and satisfactory divi- 
sion of it was an expression of true harmony. 
Skilfully introducing American liberty, he ex- 
plained how it had already begun to produce 
prosperity in that country of immense mineral 
and agricultural resources, while in France pro- 
‘visions were becoming scarcer and of worse qual- 
ity, in the midst of a deluge of paper-money, in 
which all would long ago have perished, if a man 
of noble and creative mind had not used his 
judgment and influence in directing anew the 
financial affairs of the country. 

This flattery, administered with great discretion, 
in reference to Calonne, who was sitting opposite 
the speaker, was received with applause, causing 
the minister’s cheeks to glow, and eliciting con- 
gratulatory gestures from the courtiers near him. 
Even General Lafayette, who was well acquainted 
with M. de Calonne, and sat at his side, whispered 
agreeable words, 

Claviére now passed on to a compliment on 
Lafayette and other officers present, known to 
have fought in the American war of indepen- 
dence, asserting that after France had taken such 
a conspicuous part in aiding the United States, 
by sending her best and bravest sons to her bat- 
tle-fields, she ought to finish her work now in the 
name of all that suffer and are oppressed. The 
, Speaker went on to say that the society for the 
deliverance and civil equality of the poor slaves 
was formed in France through the activity of the 
Marquis de Lafayette; but that, unfortunately, 





121 


in this as in other cases, nothing decisive could be 
done without money—that large sums were neces- 
sary to lay a foundation at all adequate to the ob- 
ject in contemplation, which was to promote the 
abolition of slavery, and to continue the agitation 
‘of the subject, by pamphlets, associations, and 
a liberal outlay. | 

M. Claviére averred that a great deal of money 
must therefore be contributed to make even a 
small beginning; and that nothing is more char- 
acteristic of a man than the way in which he ap- 
plies his gold; for if it is for a good purpose, he 
is good himself, and he who gives for the cause 
of freedom, must feel free himself. 

‘“* Money,” said the Genevan, with considerable 
profundity, “is the sinew of life, and in your sin- 
ews live mind, ideas, and all that is divine, as one 
of the most distinguished and intellectual men of 
France, now honoring us with his presenee, has 
well and truly said in a recently-published work.” 

““ How very subtle this manis!” said Holbach 
to his neighbors. ‘ He approaches us all in turn, 
and makes us a present of a paper of candy; but 
Ihave no confidence in him; he has not quite art 
enough to conceal his real purpose—for he brings 
us back too often and too zealously to pecuniary 
matters, about which, no doubt, he intends to 
sound a trumpet in honor of his minister and 
companion, M. de Calonne.” 

Claviére continued to remind the assembly that 
a good condition of society is characterized by the 
amount of money spent—the more the better. 
“The expenditure itself,” he said, reproduces 
funds, as well as ideas, useful to society—econ- 
omy is the worst financial system. That is the 
rock on which my great Geneva compatriot was 
wrecked while administering the finances of 
France. Necker’s mind was the greatest of his 
time, and as such he must be recognized. He 
united financial and state reform, and at least en- 
deavored to give the people political rights for 
the taxes imposed on them; but unhappily he 
misconceived in reference to economy as an effec- 
tive remedy for the condition of the country, and 
thus he lost credit. 

frugal minister of finance. 


No one could believe in a 
Under a good admin- 


122 


istration the currency must be as abundant as if it 
descended in showers from the clouds—new paper 
must therefore often be issued. 

“The beneficent genius of the French finances 
has the seat of honor at this table. When M. de 
Calonne entered on his duties, he found in the 
state treasury two bags containing twelve hun- 
dred livres opposite a six-hundred-and-four-mil- 
lion debt, and a yearly deficit of eighty millions. 
He immediately began by urging a loan of one 
hundred millions—a productive and wise idea. 
It is true loans have multiplied, but there has 
been no stringency in the supply of currency, and 
all the capital of the nation has been put in mo- 
In the present year (1785) one hundred 
and thirty-six millions have been issued in treas- 


tion. 


ury notes.* Gentlemen, gold glitters in all cor- 
ners Of France; she has more to spend, and con- 
sequently will receive more. France will become 
rich, and her people free and happy !” 

As Claviére uttered these words, immense ap- 
plause resounded in the hall. Some of the guests 
eried, “Long live Calonne!” others, in stern 
voices, commanded silence. Claviére paused a 
moment, contemplating the excitement in the as- 
sembly with flashing eyes. 

“He has actually brought out a cheer for Ca- 
lonne already,” remarked Cabanis in a low voice. 
“ And the minister does not appear in the least 
abashed that his merits are trumpeted by one of 
his own agents. A man, such as he, has not much 
choice or modesty in his gratifications. There is 
some ambiguity, I think, in the flattery that money 
almost grows in the streets during Calonne’s ad- 
ministration. It is true, such management, or 
rather mismanagement, of the public funds is de- 
signed to soothe our real misery for a short time 
—it is an attempt to blind the nation, under pre- 
tence that the treasury is overflowing. Calonne 
buys every thing merely to show that he is able 
to doso. Estates, castles, islands, forests, duke- 
doms, and I know not what, he has purchased for 
the state, and all without any reason for making 


these acquisitions. Any one desiring a state en- 


COUNT MIRABEAU. | 


dowment had only to say so, and he is sure to 
be received with open arms—all pensions are 
bestowed in perpetuity, and he that already has a 
life revenue may have it extended to all eternity. 
Even the most greedy and importunate courtiers 
are astonished at the blessings provided for 
them.” * 

Claviére saw that this was the proper moment 
to resume his speech, which had only been inter- 
rupted by its effect. “Economy is not wisdom !”’ 
he began again. “In financial matters it is an 
exception. In agood monetary system, I repeat, 
the currency must flow abundantly, as a river 
from its source in the impenetrable mountains. 
Gentlemen, our country, great and beautiful as 
she is, may congratulate herself on her return to 
a natural order of things. This idea the present 
Behold the 


mothers of France, who are generously beginning 


era seems to recognize everywhere. 


to nourish their own children, instead of intrust- 
ing them to the care of hirelings! A good gov- 


ernment, if it wishes to be great and strong, must 


‘also exercise such devoted and beneficent mater- 


nal love on all its citizens!”” He was again inter- 
rupted by boisterous applause. 

“Now he drags Jean Jacques Rousseau’s ideas 
of a return to Nature and maternal affection, into 
Calonne’s financial swindle,” said Baron. d’Hol- 
bach. 


this rollicking fellow, who makes use of our con- 


‘“‘ What is to become of us in the hands of 
victions only to delude us? I suppose the next 
thing he will demonstrate is, that the real pros- 
perity of France consists in the deficit of her 
finances.” 

“ He that understands how to spend well and 
richly, has no consciousness of deficits!’ said 
“ A non-default- 
ing administration would be a picture without 


Claviére, just at that moment. 


shading. But painting, gentlemen, is the art of 
shading ; and so financiering, to be perfect, must 
be mellowed by occasional losses.” | 
“He is transforming his friend Calonne into a 
Raphael!” exclaimed Cabanis, rubbing his hands. 
The last flight of the orator, however, seemed 





* Louis Blanc, ‘‘ Histoire de la Révolution fran- 
gaise,” vol, i., ch. v. 





* Louis Blanc, “Histoire de la Révolution francaise,” 
vol. i., ch. v. 


to cause some dissatisfaction, for many of the 
guests began to hiss; while others, with more 
politeness, complained that the public misery 
should be treated in so trifling a manner, and the 
well-known ruinous condition of France brought 
into ridicule by one who seemed to rejoice in his 
charlatanry. 

Mirabeau entered the hall. Wherever he ap- 
peared he was sure to produce a sensation, but 
especially on this evening, and the eyes of all were 
turned toward him. 
pale, and could not repress a curiously sarcastic 


He was very grave and 


grimace, on hearing the last remark of the Gene- 
van about deficits. He took the seat reserved 
The latter hastened 
to conclude his address, uttering a few brilliant 


for him at Claviére’s side. 


thoughts, by which he successfully managed to 
unite his audience in full and favorable recogni- 
tion of his opinions generally. 

The banquet now really commenced. Several 
other orators, with shorter addresses, were heard. 
Mirabeau refused all invitation to speak, and 
seemed to have a little disagreement with his 
neighbor Claviére, who was endeavoring to urge 
him. 

“When a man comes to dinner late,” remarked 
Mirabeau, helping himself from the dishes before 
him, “he has to attend to other affairs than to 
display his eloquence. Besides, you have spoiled 
the business, Claviére, for the company do not 
seem to take kindly to your representation of de- 
ficits—many, in fact, seem to feel quite ill from 
I fear that 
I should only increase the excitement against us, 


the effect of your eloquent argument. 
for I see many opponents. I have already more 
enemies than I ever had in Paris, on account of 
my recent publications. Shall I tell you some 
news? The police are about to forbid the circu- 
lation of both my works, the one against the bank 
of discount and that against the Spanish bank— 
this is to be done at the request of my amiable 
patron himself, M. de Calonne.” 

“Who told you that?” asked Clavidre, eagerly. 
“Tt was to remain asecret from you for a few 
days longer.” 

“The wife of M. the Minister just announced it 








to me, in order to give me a proo 
ship,” replied Mirabeau, smiling. 

“Tf she gave you no other token of regard, you 
are really to be pitied!” said the Genevan, look- 
ing at the other derisively. ‘‘Poor adventurer 
that you are! you must have had a dull interview 
with the fair lady, if you were occupied with state 
affairs.” 

“That is not my opinion,” replied Mirabeau. 
“Tf you wish to obtain the good-will of any one, 
you must know how to treat him. Once I dis- 
puted about an Arabic grammar, with a person 
who had long lived in the East, and our very dis- 
agreement became a basis of true friendship. 
Madame de Calonne is one of the best ladies in 
existence, but I soon saw that she was prouder of 
being supposed conversant with state affairs, and 
competent to pass judgment on them, than of her 
beauty and her very pretty foot, which is one of 
her principal attractions. So I amused myself by 
conversing with her as I would with her husband. 
I asked her for news from the financial adminis- 
tration, and whether my two pamphlets on the 
question of stocks had received her approbation. 
At first she looked at mein apparent astonish- 
mént, and then burst into laughter. She said, 
looking charmingly important: ‘I will show you, 
Both 
your pamphlets will be denounced, and confiscated 
by the police, and M. de Calonne himself has de- 
manded this. I accidentally heard him speak about 


count, that I am in possession of a secret. 


it, half an hour ago, with the lieutenant of the 
Parisian police.’ ” 

“ And did Madame de Calonne also tell you the 
reasons for this measure?” asked Claviére, in a 
very irritated tone. 

“Of course, I pretended to be overwhelmed 
with sorrow, and I regret now that I did not ask 
for the reasons of this strange action of the min- 
ister.” 

The Genevan laughed aloud, but then said 
with some anxiety: “Speak in a lower voice, 
for Calonne (who is sitting opposite) has very 
keen ears, and I fear he may overhear our con- 
versation.” 

“T am not concerned about that,” replied Mir- 


124 


abeau, with comic naivety. “He cannot possibly 
hear what we are saying. But why does he act 
so equivocally toward me? He first induees me to 
write those pamphlets, and then forbids their cir- 
culation.” 

“T am surprised at your not immediately un- 
derstanding his intention,” said Claviére, excited- 
ly. “The minister has two objects in view, 
which I myself advised: first, he does not wish 
the Exchange to suspect that the opposition to 
stock-gambling—a movement you inaugurated so 
effectually—is permitted by him, much less that 
it owes its origin to his influence; secondly, he 
thinks that your works will be more effective 
when they have the charm of being obnoxious to 
the government.” 

A collection for the objects of the association 
had been proceeding for some time, and the plate 
approached Mirabeau; he took a well-filled purse 
from his pocket, and cast it in with some ostenta- 
tion, so that the minister was attracted by the 
metallic sound. M. de Calonne nodded kindly to 
him, making inquiries about his health, and why 
he had kept away from the ministerial mansion. 

The count replied; without the least embarrass- 
ment, that he would not have done so if he had 
known that his visits would be agreeable. 

“T thought,” said the minister, bending over 
toward Mirabeau, “I heard you speak with M, 
Claviére about your two pamphlets? Can you 
imagine such a thing, count, that the police in- 
tend issuing an interdict in reference to them? * 
It will probably be made public to-morrow, and 
unfortunately I could do nothing to prevent it!” 

“JT thank your excellency for your sympathy,” 
replied Mirabeau. “The prohibition, however, 
will greatly increase the demand for the pam- 
_ phiets, for we all find forbidden fruit the sweet- 
est.” 

“Indeed?” asked M. de Calonne, slightly 
wrinkling his forehead. At this moment he re- 
marked a ring, with a peculiar jewel, sparkling on 
Mirabeau’s hand, and regarded it with increasing 
attention, apparently making great efforts to de- 





* Peuchet, vol. ii., p. 377. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


cipher the letters engraved on it. Involuntarily 
the count withdrew his hand from view, placing 
it under the table, and for a moment became visi- 
bly uneasy. The minister was disturbed in the 
curiosity which suddenly possessed him in so 
strange a manner, by a remark from his neighbor 
General Lafayette. 

“Tam afraid you have been very imprudent,” 
said Claviére, from whose sharp eye nothing es- 
caped, in a low voice to Mirabeau. “The ring 
you wear attracts Calonne’s attention.” 

“He recognizes it,” replied Mirabeau, smiling. 
“Tt belonged to his wife, who placed it on my 
finger at parting.” 

“That was to console you for the prohibition 
placed on your pamphlets, I suppose?” asked 
Claviére. ‘“ And, with your usual carelessness, 
you did not take it off on coming here! 1 
beg of you, my friend, do so now, and conceal it 
Here, take mine, and put it on 
quickly under the table. If M. de Calonne ap- 
proaches you afterward he will find that he was 


for the present. 


mistaken. I am anxious for a good understand- 
ing between you and him; he must raise you to 
the position due your talents.” 

The count shrugged his shoulders, but followed 
the advice of his more practical friend. 

The banquet was over, and all rose to greet 
those they had not yet had an opportunity of ac- 
costing. Calonne had scarcely left his seat, 
when he hastily forced his way through the con- 
gratulating crowd and crossed to the other side 
of the room, where Mirabeau and Claviére met 
him. He received the compliments of these gen- 
tlemen very kindly, offering his hand to the count 
in an especially friendly manner. He held the 
latter’s hand for some time, uttering the most 
flattering phrases, evidently examining the ring, 
and suddenly brought it nearer to his eyes, but 
looked surprised, as one disappointed in some 
sure expectation. He released Mirabeau’s hand, 
and a few minutes after disappeared from the 
hall. 

“TJ know him well, and doubt that he is alto- 
gether convinced,” said Claviére, looking after 


the minister. ‘ His suspicion is often assisted by 


THE MISSION TO BERLIN. 


a remarkable presentiment, leading him, even in 
business affairs, to the most concealed traces of 
what he desires to discover.” 

“Tam surprised that a man of his character 
can be so unreasonably jealous,” replied the 
count. “A general lover, such as he, is usually 
not inclined that way, and it is the more remark- 
able, as he does not pretend to have the slightest 
If his friends 


should happen to pay her compliments, he ought 


regard for Madame de Calonne. 


rather, as a man of the world, to be obliged to 
them. And if he does not appreciate his own 
gold, why should not others ?” 

“That reminds me, by the way, of the coinage 
of our louis d’ors!” laughed Claviére. “ You are 
quite a financial genius, Mirabeau. I can tell you 
that the edict ordering the alteration of gold coin 
in France will shortly be made public. I have 
worked out the idea for the minister—the whole 
We shall remould the old louis 
d’ors according to a new scale, and hope to gain 


plan is mine, 


two, or one-fifteenth, on every thirty coins, Our 
dear public will easily submit to a small loss in 
But I think that 

any thing like deterioration in the case of Ma- 


the deterioration of the metal. 


dame de Calonne would not exactly please the 
minister.” * 

“ Let us resume our levity at some other time,” 
said Mirabeau, taking leave, and turning to con- 
verse with other friends, among whom were Ca- 
banis, Condorcet, and Holbach, who had been for 
some time awaiting his leisure. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE MISSION TO BERLIN. 


Severav weeks later, Mirabeau sat in his room 
with Henriette, to whom he always returned with 
renewed affection. Contrary to his later habits, 
he had not left home during several days. He 





* Louis Blanc, vol. ii., ch. v. 





125 


seemed to be in bad humor, and his usually bright 
brow seemed to lower in vexation and despond- 
ency ; he was seldom so much moved as at pres- 
ent, for his temper easily changed to any present 
impression. 

Henriette was in her favorite position, on a ta- 
bouret at his feet, and engaged in some embroid- 
ery intended to adorn little Coco. From time to 
time she looked anxiously up at her friend, who 
was lost in thoughtful silence, hardly conscious of 
her presence. 

** Mirabeau,” she said at last, pausing in her 
work and touching his arm gently, “ why are you 
so sad? I fear that some misfortune has hap- 
pened to you. Why do you not give me a good 
scolding, and storm and rave around with your 
dear thundering voice? Or why not take a walk 
—go to a café—hunt up some friend and prom- 
enade the Boulevards, if you will not let me ac- 
company you? WHowis it that you have not been 
to the financial bureau for several days? Rouse 
yourself! It is injurious to such a strong man to 
remain still.” : 

“ You are right,” said Mirabeau, in a mellowed 
tone not usual to him, “I am wasting my time 
in idle melaricholy—in I know not what thoughts, 
leading to no results. It is fortunate that you are 
by my side, Henriette; are you not at the same 
time my wife, my child, and my mother? You 
are caréiul for me, and your voice would encour- 
I thank you, for the breath 


of your ever-fresh lips reanimates me, and my 


age and rouse me. 


soul already bestirs itself.” 

“Do you know, Mirabeau, that I would really 
be glad if you have no more business at the finan- 
cial minister’s ?” said Henriette, beginning one of 
“T do not think you 
gain any thing there in either temper or funds. 
At times, I confess, I have been really jealous of 
your visits at M. de Calonne’s. 


her cheerful conversations. 


Ido not know 
why, You are accustomed to look so happy on 
departing; and when you say ‘Henriette, I am 
going to the financial ministry,’ I always console . 
myself with the idea that you will soon be a 
rich man by means of your connections with the 
great monetary world; but nothing has yet come 


126 


of it all, and you seem to be richer. only in care 
and dejection.” 

“Tt is true,” replied Mirabeau, springing up, 
irritably ; ‘‘ Ihave now less money than ever, and 
I may thank this miserable financial business for 
it. The depreciated bills, of which Claviére gave 
me such quantities, and which were meant to pay 
me for my labor, have not again risen in value, 
but remain on my hands—mere packages of rub- 
bish, with which the rats may build their nests. 
Isometimes fancy that I have been used only as 
a tool! They make me write against speculators 
and the Bourse, and promise me mountains of 


gold, but pay me in paper—the very trash that I 


myself aided in depreciating! Claviére tells me 
it is very deep strategy to become rich by what 
we do our best to render valueless in the market. 

“These are Egyptian secrets, perhaps—but I 
I, who 


~ detest speculation in my inmost soul—who see in 


have gone far enough in their solution. 


it nothing but the degradation of society, and the 
moral and domestic ruin of the individual—must 
be used as an instrument for its defence !—must 
fight in the ranks and by the side of unproduc- 
tive speculators, whom formerly I would scarcely 
have considered worthy of the honor of an insult. 
And why did I undertake such business? Be- 
cause I was obliged to have something to do; I 
could no longer bear to remain idle, in shameful 
inefficiency, and dying from inaction. It serves 
me right that in my character of depreciator I 
have become intolerable to myself. And, to-day, 
my child, we may make a stew of our bank-bills 
for dinner, for I certainly do not know how we 
are to pay for it.” 

“You need not be alarmed on that point, my 
friend,” replied Henriette, looking at him as if she 
“You 
know I am a good housekeeper, and have saved 
a whole louis dor of the money you lately gave 
me. I intended to buy a little present for you to 
surprise you, but now I am glad that my precious 
coin can come from its hiding-place to our rescue, 
Count Mirabeau. This is the last reserve.” She 
hastened to her work-table, taking the gold-piece 
out of the drawer. 


felt pained, and secretly drying a tear. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


“That is a good friend, but unfortunately we 
must immediately dispose of it!” said Mirabeau, 
slipping the louis d’or quickly into his pocket with 
a very cheerful gesture. “ Perhaps this may turn 
out a fortunate day for us, for when you find any 
thing unexpectedly, some other agreeable addition 
is generally made. You see misery has made me 
superstitious. Claviére promised to call on me 
to-day, to bring me the last intimation of M. de 
Calonne as to his intentions in reference to me. 
Iam expecting him every moment with increas- 
Ihave sent word to the min- 
ister, that he must declare briefly and simply 


what he means to do for me, and if he does noth- 


ing impatience. 


ing, that I am weary of compromising myself any 
Not 
only do I gain no money, but by my writings I 
make a thousand enemies among the public, and 


more for him and his financial intrigues. 


not a single friend of any consequence in the 
ministerium. The opposition against me in Paris 
increases—my name and character are dragged in 
the most disgraceful manner into the journals ; 
and, what is most disagreeable to me, they refer 
to all the past sins of my life, and punish me in 
my private relations, going back so far as to re- 
proach me with the abduction of Sophie de 
Monnier. 

“T have just made a most cold-blooded oppo- 
nent of Beaumarchais, the author of the ‘ Wed- 
ding of Figaro.’ You know I published a small 
brochure last week against the new water com- 
I thought M. de Calonne desired 
to have arrested the excitement of the public for 


pany of Paris. 


the shares of that company, because capital was 
withdrawn from the royal funds. The price of 
those shares had risen from twelve hundred francs 
to fifteen hundred and higher. Iinterfered, endea- 
voring to prove that the speculation, by which the 
Aqueduct Association were trying to accumulate 
their capital, belonged to the prohibited schemes of 
the Bourse, for it was involved in the late minis- 
terial action forbidding any sales on time-purchase, 
Now, this Beau- 
marchais, a speculator of the most reckless char- — 


and merely nominal values.* 





* “Sur les Actions de la Compagnie des Eaux de 
Paris” (Londres, 1785). 


THE MISSION TO BERLIN. 


acter, but belonging to the managing committee of 
this company, writes such a malicious reply, that I 
do not know whether I ought not to put my sword 
through his body. And M. de Calonne—since I 
broke this lance for him (if not for him, for whom 
else ?)—does not admit me to his presence! I 
have not been able to see him for eight days ; and 
now I have demanded a decisive answer through 
Claviére.” 

‘‘ What!’ asked Henriette, in the greatest as- 
tonishment, approaching him, and anxiously look- 
ing into his eyes—“ you have not spoken to the 
minister for eight days? Yet you went several 
times to his residence at the beginning of this 
week, and told me afterward that you had long 
interviews there. Did you speak to some one 
else? Are there any pretty ladies in the financial 
mansion? I have made inquiries on the subject, 
and was told that Madame de Calonne is very 
beautiful.” 

“You have broken your promise, my child,” 
replied Mirabeau, threatening her playfully, put- 
ting his hand on her lips, and covering her cheeks 
with kisses. ‘‘ You solemnly promised me, a short 
time since, not to be jealous, and now you have 
IfI told you that I was at 
the house of M. de Calonne, you may rely on it; 


fallen into a relapse, 


I was really there, and if I held conversations, 
they were important, even if the person to whom 
I addressed myself was one next in authority to 
the minister himself.” 

Without replying, Henriette stood at the win- 
dow, looking thoughtfully and doubtfully into the 
street. Then, on hearing a carriage approach, 
and seeing it stop before the house, she exclaimed : 
“M. Claviére is descending from the equipage— 
he is coming to pay you a visit. -You must, how- 
ever, permit me to absent myself, my friend; you 
know I do not deserve to see him, for I do not 
recognize his perfection. Besides, I have some 
necessary things to attend to, and will depart.” 
She took her hat, and, after Mirabeau had kissed 
her repeatedly, she hastened away as fast as pos- 
sible by one door, while Claviére entered as quick- 
ly by the other. 


_“ At last!” exclaimed Mirabeau, ‘impulsively. 





127 
“ You have made me wait a long time, Claviére, 
and yet you know I am the most impatient man 
under the sun—my mind and body tremble to 
hear the decision ! ” 

“That is why I hesitated to come!” replied 
the Genevan, clearly out.of humor, throwing him- 
self into a seat and remaining silent. 

“ You do not look like a messenger of good 
news,” said Mirabeau, anger becoming visible on 
his countenance, “I suppose, the minister will 
do nothing forme. Well, then, let him fear my 
enmity!” 

“ He offers you a secret mission to Berlin,” re- 
plied Claviére, ‘“‘but he cannot give you a posi- 
tion in his bureau, and he will not use his influ- 
ence for you here. In fact, he desires to have 
you removed from Paris.” 

Mirabeau stood a few moments with folded arms 
in the centre of the room, meditating. At length 
he said, vehemently: “‘Tell me something more 
about matters and things, Claviére ! ” 

“ Your affairs are in a very bad condition,” the 
latter replied, “and all without doubt by your 
own fault!” 

“The minister does not like my argument 
against the shares of the Aqueduct Company?” 
asked the count. 

“Tt did not please him,” said Claviére, ‘ nor 
did I like it. 
penses for it, but M. de Calonne considers them 


We have paid the printing ex- 


as so much money thrown away. You were too 
violent, my friend, and have exposed many weak 
The minister wished to 
have the public warned against this new specula- 


points to our opponents. 


tion, but it does not suit him to have the origina- 
tors of the enterprise, especially Messrs. Perrier, 
personally attacked as swindlers and cheating 
stock-jobbers. M. Constantin Perrier addressed 
himself to my chief, and succeeded, it seems, in 
changing his opinion, for the ministry intends to 
purchase one hundred shares of the company. M. 
de Calonne and his colleagues talk of nothing but 
the national and patriotic value of this scheme, 
and the minister himself is enthusiastic for the, 
use of the steam-pump for the first time to come 
into practical use at this aqueduct, and for which 


128 


the brothers Perrier have proposed many im- 
provements.” * 

“ You may go where you please with your finan- 
cial ministry!” cried Mirabeau, passionately. 
“Does this Calonne think that the steam-pump 
will force all the gold of the Pactolus into the 
Seine? If he had told me so sooner, I would 
have been quite as charmed as he is with this new 
invention. But why does he wish to send me to 
Berlin ? 


secret mission to that city?” 


Is it possible that any man can have a 


“For some time past Prussia has attracted the 
attention of King Louis XV I.,” replied Claviare, 
dryly. ‘A change of monarchs is soon expected 
The great King Frederick II., who has 
raised his obscure kingdom to a brilliant and 


there. 


powerful position, will soon have disappeared 
from among the living. It is desirable to know 
something of the intentions of his successor in 
reference to France; besides, it would be well to 
have a correct and more intimate knowledge of. 
the circumstances of this suddenly exalted coun- 
try. The French government wishes to estimate 
anew its position in Europe, and M. de Calonne 
proposed to send you, that you may give us au- 
thentic reports about the court of Prussia, as well 
as her resources and ideas. For the first month 
you are to receive two thousand francs, and the 
rest will be arranged afterward.” 

“To go to Berlin would not be so very disa- 
greeable to me,” said Mirabeau, after a pause. 
“T am disgusted with my residence in Paris, and 
I long to see other men. A fresh breeze, even 
from Brandenburg, would be grateful to my 
feyered brow. But, before I say any more, ex- 
plain to me why Calonne desires my absence ?” 

“T never expected that Count Mirabeau, the 
hero of the future, would ever act in such an in- 
nocent manner,” replied Claviére, rather petu- 
lantly. “But you carry your simplicity too far. 
I have warned you often enough, telling you that 
Calonne is jealous, and, besides, has the keenest 
faculty of discerning men’s manners and mo- 


tives.” 





* Penchet, vol. ii., p. 388. 





COUNT MIRABEAU, 


“T have not visited Madame de Calonne for 
several days,” said Mirabeau, evasively. 

“ Because she declined to receive you, my dear 
friend!” exclaimed the Genevan, with irony. 

“ Ah,” replied the count, “ M. Etienne Claviére 
appears to be well informed, not only of what oc- 
curs in the office of the financial minister, but in 
the boudoir of his wife.” 

“T never could understand your conduct in this 
“ At a public ban- 
quet you openly wear a ring, just received from a 


whole affair,” said Claviére. 


lady whose husband sits opposite you, and before 
whose eyes you expose it in such a manner that 
he is almost enabled to decipher the letters (to 
him well known) engraved on it. Calonne was 
not deceived by our manceuvre. His suspicion 
was aroused, although, according to his self-pos- 
session, he allowed no one to perceive it. I im- 
agine, however, that some violent scenes have 
lately taken place between him and his wife, for 
she could not show him the ring he asked for, 
which was a present from him. Madame de Ca- 
lonne feels that you have shockingly compro- 
mised her, and that is more dangerous for you 
than the minister’s anger. He will avoid making 
any public demonstration from political motives, 
We 


shall lose your pen, which would have been of 


but he desires your absence from this city. 


great use to us; but, mark me! the lady will 
avenge herself—she is an Italian, and be careful 
how you cross her path again.” 

“Very well,” replied Mirabeau, calmly. “I 
accept your proposal. Do you make all the ar- 
rangements, and I shall be grateful to you. Iam 
off for Berlin. To-morrow, if you please, I shall 
be ready to start with my whole family.” 

“ Yes, to-morrow,” said Claviére, “for if you 
accept this position, the minister desires you to 
depart immediately. I will prepare all that is ne- 
cessary to-day. Farewell, Mirabeau! I am sorry 
that we lose you in this manner; indeed, I am so 
greatly troubled that I almost feel disposed to call 
you to account for your folly.” 

“We shall meet in another way than with 


powder and lead,” said the count, with a shade of 


| melancholy. ‘ We intended to accomplish a great 


THE MISSION TO BERLIN. 


deed; put it is not yet evening for either of us. 
My conduct separates us, but the tempest is com- 
ing that will bring us together again. Then we 
must support each other.” 

“Tt cannot be long before that period,” said 
Claviére, with greater heartiness than usual, em- 
bracing Mirabeau. “In the mean time let us be 
busy with preparatory matters, and when you re- 
turn, you will take your rightful place as master 
and leader of the movement! I hope the new 
financial plan I have worked out for Calonne will 
please you in your capacity of political sapper.” 

“What are your projects, at present? ” asked 
Mirabeau, looking at his friend in a very signifi- 
eant manner. 

“We mean first to deliver a memorial to the 
king, preparing him ‘for Calonne’s new system,” 
replied Claviére, ardently. “This petition will de- 
mand nothing less ‘than a complete remodelling 
of the French monarchy; and I can fancy the 
' astonished countenance of good Louis XVI., when 
the spendthrift Calonne suddenly appears before 


him with the austere language of Turgot, Vauban, 


and Necker. ‘France, hitherto divided by pro- 
vincial and state privileges, is to be directed 
anew, so that she shall be a unit. She is to have 


a national representation. Taxes are to be de- | 


créased, and not ‘paid, as formerly, by the citi- 
zens only, but by the nobles, the church, and 
9 





129 


even the king. Justice and unity must reign in 
this country, and all privileges, differences, and 
distinctions, cease forever. Will that satisfy 
you?” 

“T profoundly bow to you and Calonne!” cried 
Mirabeau, with solemnity. “It is true you still 
step very softly: you bind up the talons in cot- 
ton, for the national representation may be com- 
pared to cotton. But you will go farther, will 
you not, and give the talons their natural play? 
We must have pain ere we can have pleasure!” 

“Mischief will come, but in good time,” re- 
plied Claviére. ‘ However, let us not stop to 
prophesy now; it is probable that I shall return 
to bring you more precise orders; for the present, 
adieu!” They shook hands, and Clavidre quick- 
ly left. 

“To-morrow we go to Berlin!” exclaimed Mira- 
beau; aS Madame de Nehra entered. His voice 
had not sounded so cheerfully for a long time, and 
all the depression Henriette had essayed in vain 
to disperse had disappeared. 

- “To Berlin?” asked Henriette, standing in the 
doorway in surprise, and lookingly smilingly at 
the changed appearance of her friend. 

“To Berlin!” repeated Mirabeau. “Prepare 
every thing. My whole tribe (as-T always call 
you) accompany me— Countess Yet-Lee, little 
€oco, and Miss Sarah!” 


MIRABEAU 


IN BERLIN, 





OHAPTER XIX. 


THE JOURNEY FROM PARIS TO BERLIN. 


On the evening of one of the last days in De- 
cember, 1785, a carriage, driven by a postilion, 
was passing slowly over the public road leading 
from Toul to Verdun. 
structed the progress of the travellers, 


A heavy fall of snow ob- 
The 
route lay for some miles along the banks of the 
Meuse, and on its surface the moonbeams were 
trembling. It was midnight when the party en- 
tered a forest, whose stillness was broken occa- 
sionally by the sound of parting branches, or the 
hooting of an owl, in dismal keeping with the scene. 

Those within the carriage were asleep; but the 
dog lying at its master’s feet, uttered repeatedly 
@ low howl, by which the young lady, dozing in 
one corner, was so often disturbed that she re- 
solved to remain awake, and, after carefully and 
affectionately looking at her neighbor, wrapped 
in an enormous fur cloak, as well as at a little 
boy lying in the arms of his nurse on the oppo- 
site seat, she leaned her head out of the window. 
Her beautiful eye wandered over the forest, shim- 
mering in the light, and her imagination trans- 
formed the trees into many curious forms, 

“You are really unbearable,” she whispered, 
bending over the dog, that again began to whine. 
“T believe you are afraid of this solemn forest. 
Do you see spectres, foolish Sarah?” But Hen- 
riette herself seemed to feel disquieted. With a 





hasty movement she put her head farther out of 
the window, but immediately withdrew it. Mira- 
beaw’s hand had accidentally fallen upon her lap, 
and she turned to him, as if waiting for a confir- 
mation of some fear that possessed her, but see- 
ing him so deeply buried in sleep, her anxiety 
was allayed. She looked out again on the land- 
scape, and was so charmed with its beauty, that she 
felt disposed to blame herself for evil thoughts, and 
for being alarmed at her own fancies. At length, 
she could not help believing that dark figures 
were gliding around the carriage, and passing 
away into the darkness of the forest, again to ap- 
pear with threatening glances at her and her 
companions. 

“They must have been branches of trees, like 
this one,” thought Henriette, breaking off a twig 
glittering with ice that had been forced into the 
She seemed 
assured of her safety, as she glanced at her sleep- 


window as the coach passed by. 


ing Mirabeau, with his vast strength and courage. 
“ But I will remain awake, and watch,” she said to 
herself, with regained confidence, looking out into 
the bright night. She almost fancied herself the 
guardian angel of her companions, now and then 
smiling at her friend and little Coco, who, by 
their regular breathing, showed how little they 
knew or cared about what was passing in her 
mind.. 

At this moment a pistol-shot was heard, enter- 
ing the carriage from the bushes, and harmlessly 
passing through the opposite window. 


THE JOURNEY FROM PARIS TO BERLIN. 


“My friend! Some one is shooting at us!” 
eried Henriette, in a loud and terrified voice, 
clinging to Mirabeau, who was not quite roused 
until she shook him violently. Two additional 
shots were fired almost at the same time. One 
of the balls struck the interior of the coach, frac- 
turing the door, and falling to the ground. Hen- 
riette’s movement in awakening Mirabeau was 
probably the cause of her escape. The dog 
howled fearfully, while Coco mingled his cries 
with the agonizing screams of Henriette and the 
nurse, 

After Mirabeau recovered from his astonish- 
ment, he first examined the child to assure him- 
self of its safety. Then he said to Henriette, 
with a slight shudder: “ They were not highway- 
men, for people of that description have more ex- 
perience in their profession. If they had wished 
to rob us, they would not have fired three shots 
and then disappeared. They would have troubled 
- us a little more, and at least defrayed the expense 
of powder and ball. They are mere amateurs, 
and have been hired to murder me; but they are 
very clumsy performers, and I wager a thousand 
to one that a woman is at the bottom of it.” 

“Ts it possible?” exclaimed Henriette, with 
another shriek, clinging closer to Mirabeau. 
“You can protect us? You must, I know, have 
left bitter enemies in Paris, but I cannot compre- 
hend why the ladies ‘should desire your death. 
No, my friend, you merely imagine that. Why 
should they persecute you? Besides, I am sorry 
to say, you are not such a woman-hater, Mira- 
beau, that you could have slighted them. You 
know how often you have excited my jealousy! ” 

They now noticed that the carriage had turned 
round, leaving the public road and driving across 
a field-path, which probably led back to the vil- 
lage whence they had last started. The count 
called to his servant; but he was not at his post. 
The postilion said that he intended to return by 
the shortest route, as he knew the forest was un- 
safe. Mirabeau’s servant seemed to have been 
driven by terror to take refuge in flight. No de- 
nunciation or entreaty could dissuade the posti- 
lion from his resolution; he only drove more 


a 





131 


rapidly, so that there was fear of being overturned 
every moment. 

“And you really suspect thata lady hired some 
assassin to kill you?” asked Henriette again over- 
coming her alarm. She was meditating on the 
strange words the count had uttered. Her nat- 
ural shrewdness betrayed itself; for wher Mira- 
beau was a little disconcerted and hesitating to 
reply, she added, softly: “‘I have been told that 
Madame de Calonne is very beautiful, and she is 
said to be a native Italian.” 

“And what does that concern us, my child?” 
replied Mirabeau, laughing, but regretting that he 
had betrayed himself by his first imprudent ex 
clamation. 

“T have often read of the vindictiveness of 
Italians, and that they run to the dagger or poison, 
when they fancy themselves insulted,” said Hen- 
riette;# inclining anxiously toward Mirabeau. 
M Might not one of them make use also of pis- 
tols ? ” 

“No, my love, I do not think so,” replied the 
count, dryly, to this very ingenuous question, at 
the same time kissing her repeatedly, this being 
the easiest way to silence her. 

They were driving so violently over the snow, 
and into the deep ruts, that the shaking and 
swinging of the coach made it difficult to converse, 
although Henriette was still deeply engaged with 
her subject, and seemed to have many questions 
on her mind. 

““No, my child,” said Mirabeau, after a pause, 
beginning to feel pity for her uneasiness, “ there 
are no pretty ladies in Paris who could have 
cause for taking such revenge as to fire at me 
among the forest snows of Verdun. And it could 
not have been a homely lady, for I never give one 
of that class much reason to avenge herself. Be- 
sides, I assure you, Madame de Calonne is not 
handsome. Her nose is too long, her eyes are 
gray, and utterly hateful to me, as you know that 
color is, and on her thick lips a demon and not a 
Cupid might be supposed to dwell. I do not 
understand how your fantastic jealousy could 
select such a woman as that. I could hardly 
recognize her, having seen her but once at an even- 


132 


ing party. Shall I tell you the name: of the lady 
who hired those assassins? It is Accident, which 
I have ever considered of the feminine gender, 
coquetting with all and conspiring against them. 
Accident always persecutes me. When did I 
ever leave home without falling into danger on 
the road? Think of our voyage to London, - 
when, almost in the harbor, we came near being 
wrecked through the agency of this same lady, | 
Accident.” e Sosyad 

Although Henriette was not quite satisfied with 
this explanation, she dismissed the matter from 
her thoughts, for the carriage was at the post- 
house, where every one was in great wonder at 
what had happened. Mirabeau’s servant, pur- 
‘sued by fear, had reached the village before the 
coach, and thus the news had preceded the return 
of the travellers...He stood ready to open the 
door and assist the count to descend, 

Mirabeau, in his: powerful voice, immediately 
demanded the presence of the post-manager, and 
when this official-appeared he was ordered to sup- 
ply another postilion, or force: the one. present, 
who had returned. against the wishes. of his pas- 
sengers, to continue the journey. 

The postilion replied. with oaths that:-he would. 
not go by the same road, as the forest was filled 
with .robbers and murderers, and he would not: 
expose hig horses and his. own life. It was. in: 
‘vain to represent to, him that no further. attack | 
need be feared, since the assassins must know that 
the authorities. would be informed. But the 
driver persisted in his refusal, and, at: length, the: 
travellers. were, informed. that they could not. re- 
gume their journey for some hours,. because the. 
wheels of the carriage must.be repaired, if they. 
did not wish to break down on the road. 

Mirabeau was obliged.to yield, though -not 
without many expressions of anger. The nurse. 
and Coco were provided for in one of the small. 
rooms, but-the count and Henriette preferred to: 
walk up and down before the post-house, awaiting 
the hour of their departure. The sky, inthe 
‘clear, cold atmogpnaere, presented.a most brilliant 
spectacle, and Henriette, sometimes looking. up 





with a sigh, into the infinite space. above. her, 


COUNT MIRABEAU. 


pressed closer to her friend’s side, who had partly 
thrown: his fur robe around her delicate frame. 
She began to cough violently, for the fatigues of 
this journey plainly affected her health, which for 
some time had been very feeble. 

_ “Tell me, Mirabeau,” she said,:after a short 

silence, “why you are in such a*hurry? ~~ I do not 
complain on: my own account, for I- can bear a 
good deal; and in such an hour as this, when I 
walk beneath the starry heaven with you, my only 
beloved—separated from all, but united with you 
—my anxiety and suffering are compensated. 
But I fear little Coco’s health will be endangered 
by this journey, if we travel by night.” 
. “He is four years old,” replied Mirabeau, light- 
ly, “and I intend: him to be a hardy, strong man, 
and he-can only become that by early habit. He 
is. not so badly off; he is well wrapped up, and 
his nurse, who continually carries him in her 
arms, is a stout Provengal. peasant-woman, who 
shares with him her healthful warmth and vitality. 
However, I will tell you why I amin such a hur- 
ry,” he continued,-.after.a pause, his eyes glancing 
upward.. “I travel fast, because the great men 
of the earth are like those stars. _We behold, 
and, as it were, worship them; but they disap- 
pear, carrying all their glory with them.” 

Henriette, not quite understanding him, leaned 
her head on his breast, and looked:at him with 
searching eyes. 

“You .regard me with astonishment,” he con- 
tinued, “and do not know that Iam speaking of 
a great king in the North—to whose capital we 
are travelling—Frederick the Great: Before we 
started it was supposed in Paris that he was dy- 


ing—his. brilliant. life is as that morning star, 


which will soon vanish. We are hastening to 


him, for I must see him before his departure: It 


isa blessing when the eyes of the great behold 


us in their last moments. » 


. “The condition of Europe will- change as soon 
as Frederick has ceased to live. -That red aurora 


on the horizon yonder may remind us: that the 


dawn of a bloody era is at hand, We must know 
the position France will occupy, and therefore we 
hasten to Berlin. Our. government cannot trust 


THE MESSAGE TO SANS-SOUCIL 


the ambassador sent to the court of Prussia, be- 
cause he is weak and a blunderer. It is neces- 
sary that the death of Frederick the Great should 
not only be immediately announced by a courier, 
but that just and decisive remarks on the condi- 
tion of things in Prussia and. Germany should 
accompany the news. That is the reason, my 
sweet friend, why we hasten to Berlin by forced 


marches, through night and storm, cold and dan- 


ger!” Henriette was about to kiss his hand, but: 


he pressed her ardently in his arms, 

As the morning dawned the carriage was: an- 
nounced ready, and additional compensation being 
promised to the postilion, he had no further scru- 
ples in driving the count and his family to Ver- 


dun. They passed Nancy, Frankfort-on-the-Main,: 
Leipsic, and finally reached Berlin in safety, on a» 


bright January day in 1786. 


CHAPTER XX. 
THE MESSAGE TO SANS-SOUCI. 


Count Mrrapgav temporarily took up his resi- 
dence in the Ville de Paris, one of the best hotels 
in Berlin. It was situated in Briider Street. It 
did not answer all his expectations, but he was 
told that he could find nothing better in the capi- 
tal of the King of Prussia, which seemed to be 
behind other large cities in outward elegance.. In 
- fact, Berlin appeared to him and his companion 


at first like a desert; but as the count saw and. 


heard more, his impressions were modified. 
According to his custom, he passed the first 
day, even before attending to any business, in 
walking about the streets, to comprehend the 
city in its details, and make the acquaintance of 
its general every-day life.. While Henriette re- 
mained at home, and endeavored with her usual 
skill to give a home look to the dark, many-cor- 
nered rooms assigned them, Mirabeau, in his ac- 
tivity, was running through the town, strolling 
into odd-looking places, loitering about the gates 
and the zoological garden. He went among the 





133 


people as much as he could; and, although he 
had difficulty to make himself understood in his 
imperfect knowledge of German, he managed to 
exercise his usual extraordinary art of question- 
ing. He knew so well how to interest any one 
that came in his way by his interrogations, that 
there was no escape from his inquisitiveness. 
His manner was. flattering, and the person ad- 
dressed could not help feeling attracted by the 
burly catechiser. 

He happened to meet an artisan:on the Kur- 
first Bridge, in front of the iron statue of the 
Great Elector.. This'man became the count’s guide 
‘and companion through many a street and square, 
instructing him in the manner that just suited 


‘Mirabeau’s character and present humor, and giv- 


ing him much desired information. The stranger 
was a shoemaker, carrying ona stick.a row of 
boots and shoes to his customers, The count, 
who had a peculiar talent in placing himself on a 
familiar footing with persons of this man’s class, 
met the honorable disciple of St. Crispin. resting 
himself, by placing his burden on the railing 
around the statue, and quite ready to enter into 
The arti- 
san, it- is true, could not exactly tell who the 


a political and patriotic conversation. 


Great Elector was, and Mirabeau could: not help 
thinking of the lower classes in Paris, who gen- 
erally have a thorough knowledge of every histor- 
ical monument in their city. However, the shoe- 
maker knew that the man on horseback had been 
a very brave and God-fearing man, who caused 
the French in his day considerable trouble; but 


all he had done was nothing in comparison with 


the great deeds of the “ Alten Fritz,” who gave 
them an awful whipping at Rossbach. 

Delighted with this frankness, which, added to. 
the peculiarities of a man of the people of Ber- 
lin, was exceedingly amusing, Mirabeau asked him 
whether he was aware that he was talking to a 
Frenchman. This question did not in the least 
disconcert: the shoemaker—he merely raised his 
cap with an ironic side-glance, smiling very good- 
naturedly, and said: “ The foreigners here are al- 
most all Frenchmen; one can easily recognize 
you by a certain genteel nonchalance, as you stroll 


134 


through our thoroughfares; you always act as if 
nothing could come amiss to you. And then you 
mangle our dear German so miserably, at the 
same time putting on an air oi such suffering, 
that you seem ill, and we feel like sending you 
immediately to the hospital to be cured.” 

“Your remarks are not flattering, my friend, 
“ And 


if you have no Objection, I should like to ramble 


but they are edifying,” replied the count. 


in your society through this goodly city. After- 
ward you will return with me to my hotel, to take 
my measure for a pair of shoes, for I have arrived 
in a rather dilapidated condition as to my feet, 
and I think that the sharp Berlin pavement re- 
quires a strong sole.” 

_ The man was perfectly satisfied with this ar- 
rangement, making, however, the condition, that 
the way must go by the houses where his custom- 
ers lived, and where Mirabeau would have to stay 
outside until the shoemaker returned. 

The count was always in a cheerful and excit- 
able humor when he first found himself in a new 
city. He accepted the bargain, and was especially 
delighted when his friend told him that their first 
walk would be to the residence of the minister of 
foreign affairs, because a pair of shoes were to be 
left there for M. de Hertzberg himself. 

“Why, that is a very happy coincidence,” said 
Mirabeau, laughing, and drawing out a pocket- 
book, to assure himself of a letter contained in it, 
ae 
discover now where M. de Hertzberg lives ; I have 


which this naine brought to his recollection. 


a letter of introduction to him from Paris, and 
will leave it with one of my cards at his house, so 
I should not 
be sorry if the minister would also give me some- 
thing to do, for although, unfortunately, I am no 
shoemaker, but only Count Mirabeau, I know 


that he may appoint an audience. 


where the shoe pinches the governments of Eu- 
rope, and I could give him some sound advice as 
to how Prussia, if she would only wear lighter 
boots, might become the first state on this conti- 
nent. Do you not think so, M. Cordonnier ?” 
“My name is Sommerbrodt,” replied the shoe- 
maker, with perfect self-possession. “You are a 


count, and Tacobbler. Is it customary in your 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


country for two persons of such different ranks to 
promenade the streets together without any cere- 
mony?” 

“People in France have not made so much 
progress yet,” replied Mirabeau; “but the day 
will come when such associations will be made, 
first from policy and afterward from choice! 
Here in Germany, my friend, I believe you are 
much in advance of us, and if you would, you 
could soon surpass all other nations in fraternity 
and equality.” 

“T do not quite understand you, count,” said 
“You 


advise us to wear lighter boots, in order to ad- 


M. Sommerbrodt, with a cunning smile. 


vance more rapidly? Your French shoes are not 
so bad—I must even admit that they are vastly 
superior to our work in many respects. I re- 

mained in Paris for a time, during my travels as 

a journeyman, and I learned a great deal there; 

but I did not acquire the knowledge of manufac- 

turing seven-league boots, for I do not think you 

could go much faster in them than in your light-’ 
leather pumps, however well you may understand 

the trade. I will, however, make something ex- 

tra for you, count, if you give me your order— 

not with strong soles, they would not suit you; 

you have a well-shaped and small foot, and I will 

serve you so well that our bad pavement shall 

do it no injury.” 

“Excellent!” exclaimed Mirabeau, rubbing his 
hands with delight at the acquisition he had made 
in his new acquaintance. ‘In your company and 
with your shoes I should like to wander through 
all Germany; for I am desirous of knowing some- 
thing of the whole of your country. I can tell 
you, M. Sommerbrodt, that I have always wished 
to gain that knowledge. Germany reminds me 
of the fairy-tale of the twelve sleeping virgins. 
How many states have you in your country? I 
believe more than twelve, if any one will take the 
trouble to count them.” | 

“© yes,” said the shoemaker, laconically, and 
he pointed proudly to the royal castle before 
which they were passing. 

Count Mirabeau stood with folded arms to con- 
template this splendid edifice, which especially 


THE MESSAGE TO SANS-SOUCTI. 


attracted his attention. Master Sommerbrodt ex- 
pressed his satisfaction at the interest the French- 
man took in it, and permitted himself to tap the 
count familiarly and approvingly on the shoulder. 

“As to your twelve sleeping virgins,” he con- 
tinued, with a crafty smile, “you are wrong in 
likening the states of Germany to them, There 
are probably more than thirty, and their chamber 
is called the German empire.” 

*‘ Your Prussian royal castle is large enough to 
unite them all, whatever their number, under its 
roof!” said Mirabeau, thoughtfully, still looking 
at the building. ‘“ And that is the Spree, over 
which we passed, is it not, my friend, on the other 
side of the palace? So if you could entice your 
maidens into the castle, you would not have far 
to go to baptize them. Your Spree is very patri- 
otic, for it kisses the feet of the royal residence ; 
and you dignify this little murky streamlet by 
calling it a river.” é 

“Do not speak lightly of our Spree, count, for 
we regard it highly,” exclaimed Master Sommer- 
brodt, with comic zeal, “The river reflects our 
national character: it flows as quietly and free 
from trouble as the thoughts of the natives of 
Berlin, and we rather like its muddy color. You 
cannot so easily measure its depth, while your 
Seine reveals many a sad story of your follies and 
sorrows.” 

“You are, I see, a judge of national peculiari- 
ties, M. Sommerbrodt,” replied Mirabeau, laugh- 
ing. “But your king, the great Frederick, on 
whose account I have come to this city, never 
dwells in this castle?” 

The shoemaker shook his head, and replied: 
“You must go to Potsdam and Sans-Souci, if 
you wish to see Old Fritz. That is his home, for 
he never felt at ease here, much as we love him 
and desire his presence. The old gentleman will 
probably never feel well again in this world. He 
has conquered all his enemies but oldage. Field- 
Marshal Gout is said to afflict him. His stick 
cannot ward off this foe ; indeed, for several days 
we have heard very bad reports about the king’s 
health.” 


“Then I suppose there 


is little prospect of 





135 


seeing him, if I announce myself?” asked Mira- 
beau, continuing his walk. 

“ Latterly, he is said to have given audience to 
no foreigners,” replied Sommerbrodt. ‘ But since 
Those 
of your country are always men of rank, and it is 


you are a Frenchman, it is very different. 
an honor to be acquainted with you. Your 
countrymen are welcome wherever they may go. 
Old Fritz still likes to see them, and I wager that, 
even at the point of death, he would give audi- 
ence to a Frenchman.” 

“ And does the condition of his majesty really 
cause anxiety to the inhabitants of Berlin?” 
asked Mirabeau, earnestly. 

“T can tell you,” replied the shoemaker, some 
what mysteriously, “that things are going on 
badly at Sans-Souci. If you will wait for me out- 
side the house of Minister von Hertzberg, I will 
His excel- 


lency is in Berlin to-day, and has always shown 


bring you the most authentic news. 


himself condescending toward me. We have had 
many a political conversation together, and he 
tells me all I desire to know. Others probably 
will not have such good opportunities of hearing 
the truth in this matter, because the ministers 
would rather keep it secret, and not let the public 
know what they are to expect.” 

“T will not trouble you to do so, Master Som- 
merbrodt,” said Mirabeau. “It is high time for 
me to request an audience with your king, and I 
would rather return to my hotel, which is not 
very far from here. I will immediately write a 
letter to his majesty, and send it by express to 
Sans-Souci.—But you must not forget to call at 
the Ville de Paris and ask for me. I not only 
look forward with pleasure to the instruction 1 
am to derive from your visit, but must beg you 
to take my measure for a pair of shoes, which 
must be something superior, as I intend to wear 
them at my interview with the king. And now, 
since I have asked you SO many questions, per- 
mit one more. How is it that all the citizens we 
have met wear blue coats—I see that you wear 
one yourself?” 

“That is not difficult to answer,” replied Som- 
merbrodt, the smile disappearing from his coun- 


136 


tenance, and a solemn expression taking its place. 


“Tt is the color of the Prussian army, and we 
citizens and artisans. prefer to .wear it... We then 
believe ourselves dressed, like our king, with whom 
we are always ready.to enter the field, or perform 


any service he may require.of us. . Our blue coats. 
show that we have our place in the king’s army ; 


besides, this is the color representing fidelity, and 
we feel ourselves every day more attached to our 
royal family.” . 

“T respect such patriotism!” said Mirabeau, 


quickly. returning to his hotel. 

Henriette received him joyfully, showing him 
with a triumphant smile how. far she had succeed- 
ed in unpacking and arranging, and rendering the 
rooms .comfortable.. The count, however, soon 
hastened to his desk, and, taking a sheet of paper, 
wrote :... 


“ Sirz,—It is doubtless. too presumptuous - a |. 


hope to demand an audience of your majesty, 
especially when no affair of importance or interest 
is to be discussed. But if you will pardon a 
Frenchman, who, since his childhood; has been ac- 
customed to hear of your fame, and who desires 
to see the greatest man of this or any other cen- 
tury, then condescend to permit me to come. to 
Potsdam and do homage at. your feet. 

“JT am, with the most profound respect, sire, 
your majesty’s very humble, obedient, and sub- 


missive servant, 
“ Count pE MriraBseav.” * 


After reading this note to Henriette, who had 
no fault to find with its flattering and careless tone, 
he placed it in an envelope, and rang for a waiter, 


whom he ordered to find a reliable man to send. 


to Sans-Souci. 
hotel, who soon appeared before the count. The 


Such a person was present in the 


messenger’s outward appearance betokened a piti- 
able and starving condition, as he stood with sad 
and downcast eyes to receive Mirabeau’s orders. 
“ Who are you, and what is your name?” the 
count asked quickly, looking searchingly at the 
pale, drooping countenance, and the clean but 





* Literally from the original—‘' Giuvres de Fréd- 
éric le Grand,”’, ch. Xxv., Pp. 323, 


wig. Schmidt,” he replied, in a timid voice. 


ter situation?” asked Mirabeau, surprised. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


threadbare dress of the man, who was consider- 
ably advanced in years. 

“T am the ecclesiastic candidate Johann Lud. 
my? 
am also a poet and a critic,” he added, with.a slight 


tincture of self-appreciation. 


“ Ah,” said Mirabeau, with an involuntary. 
smile, ‘then this is a mistake, for which I must 


ask pardon. I cannot possibly commission a man 


belonging to the German Parnassus. to carry @ 


‘letter for me to Sans-Souci.” 
saluting. the citizen in. a friendly manner, and |. 


“T undertake all commissions and errands of. 
the Hotel Ville de Paris, and the proprietor 
vouches for their execution,” replied M. Schmidt, 


in a modest. but decided tone. 


“ And why is a manof your talent not in a bet-. 
“Ts. 
it customary in Germany for intellectual men to 
act as servants?” 

“Oh, I pray you,” replied the candidate, a 
burning spot or two appearing on -his.. hollow 
cheeks, “I am very well contented in this house, 
although perhaps there might be an improvement 
.I was tutor to the children for 
many years, and after completing their education 


in some respects, 


I remained here as book-keeper ; I also write the 


bills of fare, and go on errands. I still have 
leisure to write an occasional contribution to the 
Berlin Monthly, published by Messrs. Biester and 
Gedike.”” 

“ And are you really contented with such a. 
lot?” asked Mirabeau. 
itable, and your criticisms advance -good taste, 


“Tf your poetry is cred- 


why does not your great king do something for 
you—he is in a certain sense. your colleague?” 
_“ Pardon,” replied Schmidt, “the German Muse 
is no pauper—she would not beg even of the king. 
But she will celebrate him as. soon as the hero’s 
eyes are. closed in. death, and with all the ardor 
and strength of which she is capable. .I have. 


already commenced an ode in Sapphic metre, and 


as soon as the sad news from Sans-Souci. reaches 
us, my poem. goes to the printer, and I hope it 


_will be the first that appears in a German journal.” 


“What, are you in such a hurry ?” exclaimed 


Mirabeau, in astonishment.. “ Well, then it is high 


MIRABEAU’S VISIT TO FREDERICK THE GREAT. 


time for you to be on your way with my letter, 
for it is my intention to see the king before his 
death, Hasten, take extra horses at my cost, and 
liberally pay the postilion to take you quickly to 
Potsdam. At Sans-Souci you will have yourself 
announced to one of the adjutants of his majesty ; 
tell him that you are sent by Count Mirabeau, who 
requests to have this letter immediately placed into 
the hands of the king. You may also add that 
Count Mirabeau has brought a packet of books 
for the king from his friends in Paris. I require 
a reliable man, who knows all about Sans-Souci, 
for my servant does not speak a word of German, 
and is besides too awkward for such a commis- 
sion—your countenance gives me the greatest con- 
fidence in you.” — 


The messenger took the letter with many pro- 


found bows, promising to forward it immediately, 


and was about to leave, when the count called him 
back. 


- said Mirabeau, “but it is in reference to your 


“T wished to make a suggestion to you,” 


qualifications as a German poet and critic. You 


might daily read an hour in your language with. 


me, and instruct me in its refinements. I feel the 
necessity of becoming master of the German ; and 
you, Henriette, must join me. It is true, I studied 
this language with Cabanis, who commenced to 
translate into French a dramatic work of Goethe, 
I believe it is called ‘Stella,’ but I have found to 
my sorrow that, in thestreets to-day, I could not 
converse even with a shoemaker—an educated 
man, by the way, for it seems artisans are such 
in Berlin.” 

“Then we shall read the ‘Hamburg Drama- 
turgie,’ by Gotthold Ephraim Lessing,” exclaimed 
Schmidt, with sparkling eyes. 

“T see you are the right man for me,” replied 
Mirabeau. ‘You begin immediately with your 
Lessing, who, as I have heard, disputed so val- 
iantly with our poets, and used, as it were, David’s 
sling against our boastful court poetry. But, you 
must know, that I consider myself as working in 
the same direction—to combat old and existing 
things is my trade. Now go, my friend, and the 
better the news you bring the greater your com- 
pensation,” 





137 


“T feel curiously here in Prussia,” said Mira- 
beau, after a long pause, when alone with Henri-' 
ette. “This country must be well studied to be un- 
derstood—that must be now my task, and I shall 
devote all my time and strength to it. I will write 
a comprehensive work on the Prussian monarchy, 
There is a vast deal of intellect here—when I 
think of it, it almost makes me shudder. I made 
to-day the acquaintance of a shoemaker on the 
street, and he showed as much wit, understand- 
ing, and logic, as a member of the French Parlia- 
ment. To-night we shall goto the theatre. Even 
if you do not understand the language, you may 
learn something, and you will see many sensible 
faces around you.” | 


CHAPTER XXI. 


MIRABEAU’S VISIT TO FREDERICK THE GREAT 


Tue letter Mirabeau sent. to King Frederick 
was very favorably received, and answered on the 
following day. The king, in an autograph letter, 
appointed a very early audience at Sans-Souci, ac- 
companied with most friendly and gracious ex- 
pressions, * 

Mirabeau felt more impatience than he ever 
remembered before, during the interval between 
the reception of the king’s missive and the day 
for the interview. The count postponed all the 
visits he intended to pay, until after his return 
from Potsdam. He would be able to plan more 
decidedly his movements in Berlin, after his 
audience with Frederick the Great, as he would 
be guided by the impressions it would make on 
him and the hopes it would awaken. The only 
exception he made was in reference to Minister von 
Hertzberg, to whom he sent his letter of recom- 
mendation, and was received by that much-deserv- 
ing and highly-cultivated gentleman on the same 
day, in the plain and simple manner that was 
so natural to him. 





* ‘“‘(uvres de Frédéric le Grand,” ch. xxv., p. 323. 


138 


e 


The long-desired day at length arrived, on 
which Mirabeau was to approach Frederick the 
Great, behold his countenance, and hear his voice. 
Henriette, as usual, assisted the count in making 
his toilet, fancying that it ought to be very choice, 
but he insisted that he would only appear as he 
generally did in polite society in Paris. This was 
in a black coat in the English fashion, which re- 
quired neither gold, silver, nor embroidery. As 
to his shoes, Master Sommerbrodt had honestly 
kept his word, and delivered the pair ordered of 
him early in the morning; they were of the best 
workmanship, as he said that he did not wish 
Berlin to be behind Paris in the art of shoemaking. 

At Henriette’s entreaty, Mirabeau finally con- 
sented to wear a slightly-frizzled toupee, together 
with a cue. She sportively said that, in presence 
of so great a king, the count must not appear with 
his natural mane, but at least make a pretence to 
respectability and custom. Mirabeau gave way 
to her with a certain good-nature, although it was 
Lis intention to be as unrestrained as possible. 
After surveying him with pleasure, Henriette hung 
his eye-glass around his neck, which was indis- 
pensable to him, for, when not holding it to his 
eyes, he was in the habit of playing with it, so 
that he felt at a loss without it. * 

The conveyance the count had hired to take 
him to Potsdam had arrived, and Henriette, quite 
proud of his appearance, accompanied him to the 
door. He travelled as fast as possible along the 
bad roads, arrived at the appointed hour at the 
palace, and entered without delay, passing but 
one sentinel at the gate. This impressed him so 
ludicrously that he could scarcely believe he was 
visiting a king, but some colonel or captain of the 
Prussian army. 

Mirabeau inquired for Major-General Count von 
Gortz, as he had been requested to do in the 
king’s letter; and the sentinel pointing to a cor- 
ridor, he passed through it hesitatingly, so solemn 
and silent did it seem. Then he reached a large 


hall, where sat a Prussian officer, warming him- 





* Vide Rachel.—t A Commemorative Work,” vol. ii., 
p. 65. Rachel describes Mirabean’s personal appear- 
ance as she herself saw him in Berlin, 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


self at a large fire, who arose as Mirabeau en- 
tered, and, looking piercingly at him, approached 
a few steps, and returned the count’s bow with a 
stiff military salute. To the inquiry for Count von 
Goértz, he made himself known as that gentle- 
man; and when Mirabeau introduced himself 
with some ceremony, M. von Gértz hecame very 
cordial. The count understood the formality of 
the general’s military position, while he appre- 
ciated the honest and brave character indicated 
in his countenanee. 

Von Gortz remarked that he would have the 
honor of announcing Count Mirabeau to the king, 
and disappeared by a door at the other end of the 
hall. On his return, he said that his majesty 
would appear at the entrance of his cabinet in 
about a quarter of an hour. Mirabeau asked 
whether a packet of books which he had sent by 
mail the preceding day had arrived, and whether 
they were already in the hands of his majesty. 
Count von Gortz politely replied in the affirmative, 
adding that the king had ordered him to thank 
Count Mirabeau, and had expressed himself very 
curious to know what accident had brought a 
traveller like him to Berlin.* 

Mirabeau’s impatience prevented him from con- 
tinuing a conversation with Count von Gortz, who 
was fortunately rather taciturn. When asked in 
a low voice whether the reports relative to the 
king’s health had any foundation, the latter an- 
Then he 
added: “I think that the resolution his majesty 
took this morning is a bad sign; he does not in- 


swered with a shrug of his shoulder. 


tend to be present at the military review to be 
held this year. This is the first time he has made 
any acknowledgment of his illness ; if it were not 
for that, there are moments, every day, when one 
would think that neither ill-health nor old age 
could bow his noble mind.” 

After the expiration of a quarter of an_ hour, 
the door of the adjoining cabinet opened, and the 
king appeared for a moment. Mirabeau scarcely 
saw the slight motion of the hand, but M. von 
Gortz told him, softly, that it was an expression 





* “ (Ruvres de Frédéric le Grand,” ch. xxv., p. 824. 








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YW) YY 


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Wy 
il 


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p. 139. 


MIRABEAU AND FREDERICK THE GREAT. 


MIRABEAU’S VISIT TO FREDERICK THE GREAT. 


of his majesty that he was ready for the audience. 
M. von Gértz then took Mirabeau’s arm to intro- 
duce him to the king. 

The self-possessed and confident ease of man- 
ner usual to the French count, almost forsook 
him when he found himself in the immediate pres- 
ence of the great monarch, who received him 
with a quick, searching glance, replying with a 
nod toa really reverential obeisance. 

The small bent figure of Frederick, who could 
scarcely support his trembling limbs by leaning 
on his stick, made at once a depressing and an 
elevating impression on Mirabeau. In a sort of 
dreamy embarrassment he looked at the king, on 
whose head, bowed by age and disease, he 


thought he saw all the glory the world can give, 
and he felt deeply moved. At first the count was’ 
surprised at the small » ‘stature of Frederick, and.|. 


the necessity of looking down on him was by no 
means pleasant, but he soon felt like one much 
inferior to the monarch he came to admire; he 
recognized an imperial genius in the expression of 


Frederick’s. features, to. which his weakness. and’ 


suffering © seemed rather to give additional in- 
serest. 


The king, ‘uaipilia tel) on the fetes of Mira- 


beau and the general, made a sign to the latter ‘to 


withdraw, which he obeyed, leaving the two alone 
in the royal cabinet. The count had been told 
in the anteroom that when ‘Frederick wished ‘to 
distinguish any” oné he granted him an interview 
without witnesses.. The monarch sighed audibly 
as he sank. into. his arm-chair,. near the hearth, 


pointing to. a sofa, on which the count Seated 


bimself. 


«“ Von visit, count, finds me a ‘poor patient, if 


the king began, in a full and strong voice, ‘con- 
trasting strangely with his decrepitude and illness, 
“But I could not. withstand a greeting from 
France, although I am hardly. i in’ a condition. to 
enjoy it. 


which I sought eagerly among them. My friend, 
the Marquis de Condorcet, sends me pretty things, 
but not his ‘ Life of Voltaire,’ which it is natural 


I should desire to see. Not long ago he wrote 


‘the grotesque. 
“edged to himself that he was not ‘altogether dis- 
‘appointed in his expectations, for the great intel- 





139 


me that it was completed; why does he keep it 
from me? Do you know—” 
A violent cough interrupted the monarch, and 


when he began to speak again, his words were 


more indistinct and uncertain. Mirabeau, during 
these attacks, could not very well reply, and he 


improved the opportunity by noticing more. par- 


ticularly the sick king and his surroundings. 


Every thing in. the cabinet was arranged s0.un- 
ostentatiously that Mirabeau might have fancied 
himself in the study of one of his literary friends 


in Paris. The walls, instead of displaying ex- 


travagant pieces of art, were lined with shelves 


Jaden with various works. A small table was 


covered with books and papers, and the only 


ornament in the room was a gilt clock on the 
marble mantel-piece. 


After surveying the simple furniture of. » the 


site. the count’s eye returned with renewed in- 


terest to the wonderfully affecting aspect: of the 


king. The coat Frederick wore was of the “same 
color as Mirabeau had before noticed in the ‘dress 
of the citizens, but-it was exceedingly shabby and 


faded ; his vest could not in any manner be con- 
sidered clean, being literally covered with ‘snuff. 


His top-boots, reaching above the knee, did not 


add much to his dignity, but partook rather of 
The count,* however, -acknowl- 


lect of the king was not obscured in a physique 


so oddly and’ meanly clad, and so anxiously ‘en- 
deavoring to husband its last vital resources. 
Frederick, who had almost recovered: from his 


painful fit of- coughing g, éast one of his’ piercing 


‘glances Ori Mirabeau, which seemed to fathom his 


character. , There was a ‘singular union “of good- 


ness’ and» inidchier, of mildness “and® irony; in 


‘Frederick's’ blue eye, and the ‘count could - not 
easily resist ‘its power, : : 

You have sent me some beautiful books |. 
from Paris, and I- thank you; but I miss: one 


The king seemed now to expect an apswer, ‘and 


‘the count replied ‘in amore reverential manner 


than he ever before assumed toward any one: 
“Sire, I feel myself happy in being graciously 
permitted to name myself among my great coun- 


: trymen who sat at your feet, and heard your 


140 


voice, although I do not merit so enviable a priv-. 


ilege. Condorcet has finished his ‘Life of Vol- 
taire ;’:it is now in press at Geneva, but seems to 
have been delayed. My friend wrote this book 
with continual reference to your majesty, for who 
could treat of Voltaire without. endeavoring to 
gain the favor of the ‘philosopher of Sans- 
Souci?’ ” : 

“ Ah,” replied the king, slightly. smiling, “ very 
soon nothing will be left of the so-called ‘ philoso- 
pher of Sans-Souci.’ True philosophy seems to 
consist in coming to terms with physical disease, 
and retaining sufficient intellect to keep a cheer- 
ful countenance, notwithstanding one’s sufferings. 
I hope, however, that our friend Condorcet has 
exhibited that scamp Voltaire in all his vagaries. 
I loved him, it is true; but I hated him also, and 
I could with pleasure have seen him hanged. He 
would make a bon-mot. on any circumstance of 
his life, and mock at mankind wherever he found 
them. How often he made me laugh; and yet I 
am ungrateful enough to wish that he had brought 
up on the gallows, as I do on my crutch-cane!” 

“Sire, Condorcet’s book, I think, will not 
be a gallows on which to see Voltaire hang,” re- 
plied Mirabeau, beginning to feel more at ease, 
and frankly smiling. 
the ideas of liberty entertained by the great 
thinker, and this is adapted to the impartiality of 
’ Condorcet’s mathematical brain. Prussia and 
France are not uninterested in the life of the 
‘philosopher of Ferney,’ and thereby show that 
they are at the head of European nations, and 
commissioned by Proyidence to herald the new 
social era. In my country the people have. ac- 
cepted Voltaire’s thoughts; in this advancing 
Prussia, it is the king himself who aids in dissem- 
inating them, thus manifesting his affinity with 
the French nation.” 

“That sounds well, spoken in your language, 
count,” said Frederick, his head inclining on his 
He 
continued: “ Abstract ideas do not warm us very 


breast, apparently meditating for a moment. 


well when we are old, and we seek vitality from 
other sources, An impracticable philosophy is 


tolerable so long as we have any thing to hope 


lish in their artificial meadows. 


“The object is to celebrate. 





COUNT MIRABEAU 


for in its application; but when we have nothing 
left to look forward to, we become eminently 
practical I am constructing turnpike roads 
through my country, draining marshes, making 
uncultivated tracts arable, and imitating the Eng- 
I am also glad- 
dened with the success of my manufactures, hav- 
ing sold last year to foreigners linen amounting 
to six million dollars, and cloth to:a million anda 
half... I have another favorite object which I will 
I have ordered three hundred 
sheep from Spain, to improve the breed here. Can 


mention to you. 


you imagine that I am anxious for the arrival of 
these animals, and cannot depart in peace before 
I see them? . Yes, I am sometimes. obliged to. 
laugh at myself; for formerly I expected the 
visits of the philosophers and intellectual men of - 
France with an impatience similar to that con- 
cerning my Spanish sheep.” * . 

Mirabeau bit his lip at this remark of: the king, 


fancying that it was intensified by an ironic twm- 


kle in his majesty’s eyes, but said quickly, and 
with all the courtier’s deference: ‘‘ This idea of 
your majesty is admirable, You are endeavoring 
to improve your sheep by this importation, but 
the intellectual men of-France endeavor to en- 
noble the human race; and you, sire, have made 
use of them for that purpose. A wise king cans 
not be indifferent as to whom he governs, and 
Prussia has become a progressive country under 
your rule, Several years ago you abolished or 
ameliorated vassalage in some of your provinces, 
but we have not yet broken a single slave’s 
chain.” 

“ And what may be the object of your residence 
in my states, count?” asked the king, turning 
the conversation. 

“Sire,” replied Mirabeau, in a lively manner, 
“my object is gained in the admiration I feel for 
the prosperity. of your majesty’s states, I have 
appointed this place as a rendezvous for my broth- 
er, the Viscount de Mirabeau, who asks your per- 
mission to be present at the military reviews at 
Berlin. -As to myself, I am completely ruined in 





“* Hertzberg, ‘‘ Mémoire Historique sur la derniére 
Année de la Vie de Frédéric II.,”’ Berlin, 1787. 


MIRABEAU’S VISIT TO FREDERICK THE GREAT. 


my prospects in France, although I have per- 
formed important services in the financial depart- 
ment. Our. minister of finance, M. de Calonne, 
hates and even threatens me, because I would not 
meddle with his last loan, nor defend his. desper- 


ate economy of recoining our gold-money; so I 


resolved to leave France until she should desire to . 


recall me and appreciate my labors: This hope 
may be foolish, but it arises from my situation. 
I am forced to depend on my industry, and what- 
ever talent I may have, so long as my father is 
live, who will not share his fortune with me. 
These, sire, are also the reasons why I would ac- 
cept with thanks a suitable position in a foreign 
country. I had an idea of going: to Russia, and 
offering my services to that undeveloped country. 
I would not have thought of this, if your govern- 
ment were not perfect in its organization, so that 
I cannot hope to be useful to your majesty, which 
_ has been my favorite idea—my earliest ambition 
—but the troubles of my youth and the miseries 
of my native land always prevented the execu- 
tion of my wishes.” * mh 
The king. listened . attentively,. and remaizied 
silent for. some time after Mirabeau ceased. He 
then replied: “It is possible, count, that you may 
do well. in Russia, and I advise you to go there. 
I have no doubt that my fair and virtuous cousin, 


the Empress Catharine II., can appreciate your ° 


talents. I dare not. deprive her of any more 
Frenchmen. She was irritated because Voltaire 
did not altogether belong to her, but still remem- 
bered his old friend the King of Prussia. If she 
should suspect that I had prevented Count. Mira- 
beau from visiting St. Petersburg, I would have 
reason to fear her. You appear to me to be 
likely to gain the favor of the czarina; you are 
intellectual..and muscular, and she has a special 


regard for such men—they soon rise at her court. : 


I suppose, however, that. you would have to con- 
ceal your opinions... Do you not think so?” 
Mirabeau began to tremble, as usual, when he 





.* Mirabeau, in aletter to Frederick the Great, dated 
Berlin, January 26, 1786, explained more particularly 
the pretended purposes of his residence in Prussia.— 
Vide ‘* Giuvres de Frédéric le Grand,” ch. xxv., p..325. . 





141 


thought he could no longer control his passionate 
temper. He plainly struggled with himself, and, 
after overcoming his emotion, his countenance 
was comparatively calm, and indeed cheerful. 


With an appearance of ingenuousness, be asked: 


“ What are opinions, sire? So long as absolute 
states and tyrannic governments exist, opinions 
must be dressed in one uniform. I am, for exam- 
ple, a sincere friend of the Poles, and love that un- 
fortunate nation with all my heart, but I am far 
from referring the dismemberment of Poland 
solely to Russia’s barbarity and a tyrant’s lust 
of power. There are historical events to be at- 
tributed more to surrounding influences than to 
the action of one individual; and during the ex- 
citement, the noblest are often hurried by out- 
ward pressure to the commission of unworthy 
deeds. Now, the division of Poland was not ex- 
actly the work of honest men, but it was done, 
and who is to be held responsible for it?” 

The king frowned, and looked down gravely 
and thoughtfully. His breathing was irregular 
and difficult, and he seemed distressed. Mira- 
beau was almost sorry for what he had said about 
Poland, but it was from a feeling of resentment 
at the manner in which Frederick had commend- 
ed him. The king’s appearance suddenly changed 
fearfully, for he seemed older and weaker than at 
the beginning of the interview. The count in- 
deed wished to be dismissed from a presence that 
made such an impression on him. — Frederick 
replying in a gasping manner, Mirabeau, for the 
first time, observed that ‘age had deprived his 
majesty of all his teeth, if not of a desire to ut 
ter insolent words. 

“Tt is a pity when a nation is ruined through 
its own fault,” said the king, endeavoring to raise 
his voice. “For in no other way does a state 
cease to exist. If the Polish men had been like 
their women, their government would have been 
firm to-day, for the latter manifested an astonish- 
ing strength of character, and I consider the 
women the men’ of that country.* What future 
can a nation have that, boasting of freedom, is 





* The literal words of Frederick the Great.—Vide 
Ségur, ‘* Mémoires,” vol. ii., p. 136. 


142 


enslaved? A people broken up into parties—so 
intoxicated by a lawless freedom, that the veto 
of a single man in the Diet was sufficient to break 
down the popular will—such a national existence 
could only become food for other and more vigor- 
ous states, who naturally prey upon it for their 
own benefit. I am also an admirer of the Poles, 
count, but only of the women. I would never 
have given my consent to a suppression of the 
Polish ladies.” The jesting tone which Frederick 
was endeavoring to give the conversation, ap- 
peared so ill-timed and sad, that the count could 
not immediately join in it, He was silent, and, 
after a pause, the king continued: “Tell me 
something of the Marquis de Lafayette, who paid 
me a visit last year, and left me the most agree- 
Is it true that 
he has bought a plantation in Cayenne for the 


able recollections of his presence. 


sole purpose of liberating the negroes on it?” 

Mirabeau confirmed this, adding a few words 
of explanation. 

““T am very glad of it; it pleases me!” cried 
the king, with an expression of liveliness. 
“Frenchmen are both intellectual and amiable, 
and we may be sure that you do that which is 
refined and benevolent. To buy an estate merely 
to free the slaves has something noble in it—it 
shows a great and wise heart. Yes, to have slaves 
is hardly right—and yet I have slaves over whom 
Iam tired of reigning—who have grown under 
my feet, wherever I have turned, and when I 
neither sought nor desired them. The bondage 
of mind and character in a civilized country is 
worse than that of the body. Give Lafayette my 
greeting when you meet him in Paris. He was 
with me in Silesia to review my troops, and, with 
the Duke of York, we have often dined together. 
Tell him that I well remember those days.” 

Mirabeau bowed, and looked with renewed as- 
tonishment at the king, whose eyes now beamed 
mildly, giving to his whole physiognomy a kind 
and hearty expression. 

“T shall rejoice the hearts of many in Paris by 
my letters, sire!” said Mirabeau. “Your ma- 

jesty’s admirers will learn from them that your 
health is much better than they were led to sup- 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


pose, and your intellect is as fresh and vigorous as 
in former days.” | 

“Oh, no,” replied Frederick, shrugging his 
shoulders, “do not sketch me to my friends in 
the French capital different from what I really 
am. My strength becomes every day less—my 
gouty limbs have gone forward as an advance to 
the shores of the Cocytus, and my mind will very 
soon follow. In other days, I did sometimes 
manage to gain a victory with a ragged and ex- 
hausted army; but this poor body of mine cannot 
long maintain its position—I must soon submit to 
the most humiliating retreat I have ever made. 
All my members are in open mutiny; and when 
the foot will no longer execute what the head con- 
siders for the best, the whole organization must 
soon disappear. You may tell all my friends that 
I am about to retire from the battle of this world.” 

“But perhaps your majesty would not despise 
our physicians?” said Mirabeau. “ Many men, 
distinguished in the healing art, might be of great 
service to you, sire. I venture to mention my 
friend Cabanis (whom Voltaire loved), as worthy 
of your honor and confidence. He is at the same 
time a thinker and a physician, uniting a childlike 
manner with an heroic mind, and as easily com- 
bating the diseases of the human frame as those 


of the nation and the age. The German medical 


men are not philosophic enough, and therefore 


cannot probably assist your.majesty in the estab- 
lishment of your health.” 

“T thank you, count,” replied Frederick. ‘Do 
you not know that I consider pharmacy as mere 
quackery? My physicians have always had a 
difficult position with me, and I have often played 
them great pranks, for in the year 1785 I had 
such good health that I could do much without 
endangering it. I was accustomed to overcome 
any attack by the use of rhubarb, sulphate ofsoda, 
and emetic tartar, while the doctors bored me 
with their prescriptions about diet, and really 
made my illness worse. The physician who tried 
to prevent me from indulging in my favorite 
dishes, polenta and eel-pasty, I considered a char- 
latan. As to your medical philosophers I have 


had no lack of them. My poor Lamettrie once 


THE CHINESE MAGIC LANTERN. 


recommended a certain Nymphean syrup, and it 
really cured me. He wrote the natural history of 
the soul, and attempted to prove that man is 
nothing but a machine. At last, his syrup lost 
its effect, and Lamettrie died in consequence of an 
indigestion, having eaten too much of my eel- 
pasty, fancying that he could do all a king per- 
mitted himself. I will tell you something more, 
I have sent for the celebrated Knight 
Zimmermann, who is a philosophic physician, and 


count. 


I am curious to see how the author of ‘On Soli- 

tude’ will treat the solitary king. Iam the kind 
of patient he ought to have, for I am very ill and 

lonely.” The voice of the king became inaudible, 
and in such a peculiar manner that Mirabeau ap- 
proached the easy-chair of Frederick. He had 
fallen asleep. This was often the case, from the 
day his health began to fail. Bowing his head on 
his breast, his breathing was heavy and obstructed, 
and he seemed to be in pain. 

The count left the cabinet softly. At the door, 
he turned to contemplate the powerless figure of 
the great monarch. It made him tremble to think 
that that small man, the picture of decrepitude 
and suffering, was Frederick the Great, and he 
hastily withdrew. 
mentioned to Count von Gértz what had happened 
in the cabinet. The latter remarked that it was 
of frequent occurrence, and considered one of the 
worst symptoms by all interested in the king’s 
health, 

Mirabeau did not feel much like himself until 
he gained his carriage, awaiting him at the foot of 
the palace, and felt the fresh air on his burning 
brow. He asked the postilion to be driven back 
to Berlin about as fast as he had been to Sans- 
Souci in the morning... ———=... 


~ 


Entering the anteroom, he 


N * 


CHAPTER pense 
THE CHINESE MAGIC LANTERN. 


Count MrraBeav was domesticated in Berlin. 
He had left the hotel, and for several weeks dwelt 





143 


in a private house, in the street under the Linden 
—a residence which he had arranged in quite a 
grand style. He also purchased a brilliant equi- 
page and several horses, for it seemed necessary 
to maintain a proper position in the capital of 
Prussia. He had also increased the number or 
his servants, and in his cabinet two secretaries. 
were continually at work. Even old Schmidt, 
who taught the count German, had found his way 
there, and was very useful, having become the 
literary errand-boy of his French patron, for whom 
he procured all the materials required fromm Ger- 
man works, 

Madame de Nehra, as usual, when Mirabeau be- 
gan to launch into extravagance, entreated him to 
restrain himself, but-her petitions were less than 
ever regarded, He seemed to have a fixed plan 
as to his actions in Berlin, and this high manner 
Henriette, who had 
repeatedly witnessed the sad consequences of his 


of living was a part of it. 


lavish expenditure, wept many a secret tear. 

But, on the other hand, the count led a more 
active and fatiguing life than Henriette had ever 
before known him to do; this was a new cause 
of anxiety to her. After moving about all day 
either in Potsdam or Berlin, making various ac- 
quaintances, paying visits of all kinds, and work- 
ing a few hours with his secretaries, he seldom 
retired at night, but sat generally until early 
dawn, unceasingly writing. Daylight often sur- 
prised him with his pen or book. 

One night Mirabeau was as usual at his studies, 
having given special ordgrs that he was not to be 
disturbed. He had returned about midnight from 
a party at the residence of Councillor von Dohm, 
one of the most eminent officials in the ministry 
of foreign affairs, He slept one hour, and then 
found himself sufficiently refreshed to return to 


| his desk. It was one of the coldest nights. The 


frost was upon the window-panes, and the fire, 
kindled an hour before, had burned low. The 
valet had been positively forbidden to attend it, 
because the count did not care to overburden those 
serving him. He himself was but scantily clothed, 
having on a quilted dressing-gown, but wearing 


neither vest nor stockings. He appeared, how- 


144 


ever, to feel so comfortable that he continued his 
work with a rapid pen.* 

Suddenly, Mirabeau aeard a slight noise at the 
fireplace, which, at first, he did not care to notice 
particularly, but, as it was regularly repeated, his 
attention was at last attracted. He looked up 
hastily, and beheld, to his great surprise, a snow- 
He 
was perplexed, but immediately rushed toward the 
object sitting on the floor, and with his powerful 
hand lifted up a trembling and sighing woman, 
whom he recognized, first angrily and then laugh- 
ingly, as no other than his faithful friend Hen- 
riette. 


white figure bending over the dying embers. 


“Ts it you, Yet-Lee? ” he exclaimed, reproach- 
fully, while he carried her to the sofa and gently 
laid her-down, “Against my express desires and 
entreaties you would rise, and almost frighten me 
by your spectral appearance !” 


“And you almost choked me by-your terrible 


grasp, my restless friend—you give quiet to no 


one about you !” said Henriette, still trembling 
with excitement. 


little fire for you. The servant would not brave. 


your anger, because. you had forbidden him to 
enter your cabinet. That is the reason I arose, 
thinking that I would rather be scolded-by you 
than let you suffer cold, Besides, I hoped you 
would not notice me in your profound abstraction, 
and, I might as well confess it, I have been keep- 
ing your room warm in this way for five nights, 
but now you have caught me!” 

-He took her in his arms, covering her with 
kisses, and said: 
light robe, and you wish to warm me, whose 


“You are cold yourself, in your 
veins. are burning with politics. In the sweat of 
my brow, I am writing down in cipher all I heard 
last evening at the house of M. von Dohm, and 
have to dispatch it early to-morrow morning to 
M. de Calonne at Paris. Such work makes me 
warm, and I rather desire cold. But now, child, 
you must return to your room without any con- 
tradiction, for I cannot permit. you to remain 


here longer. A writer of secret dispatches, and 





* From the unpublished memoirs of Madame de 
Nehra, and Montigny, vol. iv., p. 343. 


-vised you not to come here. 


“T was only about to make a: 





COUNT MIRABEAUD. 


particularly in cipher, isa terrible creature, with 


| whom a lady of heart and sentiment should not 


have any intercourse. Now, go; no fire shall be 
made here to-night.” 

“You will have your way in every thing, des- 
pot!” replied Henriette, pouting, and leaving the 
sofa. ‘But I declare that I will not go unless 
you allow me to kindle a fire. If I had known 
that Berlin is so frosty a city, I would have ad- 
And the cold no 
doubt is increased by the faces of the inhabitants ; 
if you only see one, he makes your arms, feet, 


and nose freeze. In such a city you propose to 


| sit up all night and write in a room without heat ! 


No, friend, a fire you shall have, and, if you had 
not interfered, it would have been burning bright 


‘ly long ago.” 


“Well, let me tell you what we shall do,” said 
the count, laughing. 


e 
-“T eannot remove you 


without physical foree, and as I wish to finish my 
report as soon as possible, let us make the fire 
together—it will be done more quickly. 
let us‘ go to work, Yet-Lee.” 


Now, 
He went to the 


hearth, and Henriette followed ; but laughed at 


him when he looked helplessly about for wood 
and coal. 

-“J concealed’ my wood here yesterday,” she 
said, like a triumphant child.“ There it is be- 
hind the closet, and because I could not bring it 
out softly enough, I made that foolish noise, 
otherwise you would have known nothing about 
it. I will hand you the billets, one after the 
other, but make as little noise as’ possible, for 
Coco sleeps in the adjoining room.” 

They knelt before the fireplace to’ begin their 


work, but Mirabeau was so awkward that instead 


of hastening he retarded it, and delayed the re- 
turn to his desk. Henriette, however, was soon 
in a good humor, when she saw that the count 
could not place one stick of wood properly upon 
another. 

“ And now tell me on this occasion,” she said, 
“what you can have to say about Berlin in your 
I could not find 
What 
in the world can it matter to France whether the 


many dispatches to Paris. 
enough to fill two pages of note-paper. 


THE CHINESE MAGIC LANTERN. 


old King of Prussia is still alive, whether the 
heir-presumptive has many debts, how many 
times Prince Henry sneezed, and whether M. von 
Hertzberg, that tedious gentlemen who paid you 
a visit not long ago, is a friend of France or 
not? All these affairs ought to be as indifferent 
to Louis XVI. as they are to me,” 

“Tf you were right, the world would be much 
better,” replied Mirabeau, busily engaged with 
the fire. ‘ But in the present state of politics, 
the most insignificant circumstances are the most 
decisive. I report to my government nothing but 

worthless stuff, that any valet de chambre could 
tell them just as well; but here is the difference 
—a servant judges from his point of view ; I, from 
mine—and probably we both come to the same 
conclusion.” 

“But when you returned from your visit to the 
old king at Sans-Souci, you were greatly moved, 
and wrote your dispatch to Paris in a very grave 

‘and solemn frame of mind,” remarked Henriette, 

casting one of those admiring and enthusiastic 
glances full upon bim with which she generally 
regarded him when thinking herself unobserved. 

“ At that time I felt like one who had caught a 
view of what is usually invisible to the human eye 
in the process of creation and dissolution,” replied 
Mirabeau, gravely. ‘I had seen human greatness 
in all the humiliation of decay. I thought I felt 
the presence of an irresistible destiny, whose 
progress we cannot mark but by final results. 
The letter, containing the details of my visit to 
Frederick the Great, and addressed to Messrs. de 
Vergennes and Calonne, is said to have made a 

deep impression on the King of France; so Claviére 
wrote me. Louis XVI. was especially struck with 
the passage where I mentioned that in Prussia all 
was ripe for a revolution. This idea I deduced 
from my conversation with the king.” * 

“ And why must there be any commotion?” 
asked Henriette, pausing a moment in her work. 

“Tt must be,” replied the count, “ because this 

, State is called to play an important part in the 
future history of Europe. It must become a free 





* These words of Mirabeau are published in the 
work ‘‘ De la Monarchie Prussienne,” vol. v., p. 357. 


10 





145 


state, or sink to ruin; in its fall it will bury the 
independence and well-being of Germany. This 
King Frederick. was a great man; he has sowed 
among his people the seeds of a liberal national 
existence, and they must force their way up, 
although he may have cut off the first sprouts. 
Had Frederick governed with his intellect only, 
the standard of freedom would ere now be waving 
from every height in this country. But he was 
also controlled by his feelings—by a contempt for 
human beings in general, and for Germans in par- 
ticular—and this led him, both from convenience 
and ill-humor, to bind upon his state the strait- 
jacket of his imperial will, and use his subjects 
as he pleased in a mere government mechanism. 
Nevertheless, he has in reality promulgated the 
law of liberty throughout Prussia, and he alone 
could prevent its practical development. After 
his death will arise a storm that cannot be calmed, 
and it is of the greatest importance to France to 
know what will become of this country. Austria 
can be bridled by Prussia only—that hated em- 
pire, which gave France a trifling and illiberal 
queen. If not counteracted, Austria will satisfy 
its desire for conquest first in Germany and then 
in other countries! You see how necessary it is 
to pay attention to even the smallest indication * 
of progress. The condition of Europe requires a 
close union between Prussia and France, and to 
prepare the way for it is the task I have set 
myself, rather more than my government expects 
me to perform. Louis XVI. is said to have been 
pleased with my intimation as to a revolution in 
this state, but he has not fathomed its true mean- 
ing, for there can be little joy for him and his 
equals in such a change.* My idea is, that when 
liberty to the human race has been sounded in 
Prussia, the freedom of France must necessarily 
The 
count hastily sprang up and walked the apart 
ment, leaving Henriette to finish making the fire. 

“Tt will not burn to-night,” she at last said, in 
an irritable tone. 


follow, if the two countries are united!” 


“Come, Mirabeau, and help 
me blow the flame, for you have lungs with more 





* Vide Condorcet, ** Mémoires,” vol. ii., p. 72. 


146 


strength in them than all the bellows in Ber- 
lin.” 

He laughed, but bent down to aid his friend, 
for her breath was quite exhausted. Not long 
after, the fire was burning merrily, casting its red 
glow upon their countenances., 

“ And now, my love, I thank you for the trouble 
you have taken,” said Mirabeau, intending to dis- 
“ + 
have much to do to-night, for, after finishing my 
cipher dispatch, I have to add the last paragraph 


miss her with a slight pressure of his hand. 


to my pamphlet on Cagliostro and Lavater, as I 
have to send it to the printer to-morrow. Then I 
wish to see whether I have sufficient materials for 
my work on the Prussian monarchy; and, if $0, 
to arrange them—or, to explain in a few words, I 
intend to divide it into certain heads, and when I 
have decided on them, it will be easier for me to 
know what I still need, and on what particular 
points I desire to obtain information. But now 
retire, Yet-Lee, my midnight star! You are the 
confidante of all my plans and hopes, but there 
is-no necessity for your companionship in these 
severe labors.” 

Henriette looked dissatisfied, but slowly de- 
parted into the adjoining room. Mirabeau seemed 
“sorry at her departure without a more tender fare- 
well. She returned when she heard her name 
“You must 
not think that I shall always be so busy,” said 


breathed softly and entreatingly. 


the count, taking her head between his hands. 
“No, Yet-Lee, I shall shortly be, I hope, a very 
considerable man, and then we can have as much 
leisure as we please, and shall never be away 
from each other. I am already becoming rich. 
I am earning money from the French ministry, 
for the more they understand the services I alone 
can perform for them, the better they will pay 
me. On that point Vergennes and Calonne are 
trustworthy.” 

“*My friend,” replied Henriette, bowing her 
bead, “‘ you spend ten times more than you re- 
ceive from Paris, for you do not appreciate econ- 
omy, and soon you will have to borrow. I am 
afraid you are doing so already. Were not 


three Jews in your study yesterday, with whom 


/ 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


you had a long and warm conversation ? Without 
doubt you desired to borrow money from them, 
and, I suppose, you have discovered that the 
Jews in Berlin are as hard to deal with as those 
in Paris,” 

Mirabeau laughed aloud. ‘ What a comic mis- 
take on your part, my child, and what an insult 
to the gentlemen that called on me yesterday, 
and whom you mistook for usurers, ready to lend 
money on undoubted security! My good Count- 
ess Yet-Lee, they were the most distinguished of 
the Israelites in this city, asking me, as a depu- 
tation, to write in their favor, so that their condi- 
tion as citizens may be ameliorated. Among 
them was the highly-respected Dr. Hertz ; he may 
be a Jew, but he has a most polished presence. 
I have really taken a liking to him; he is a 
physician, and a man of high intellect, like our 
Cabanis, and his eyes and eloquent lips betray a 
brave heart. It would make me very happy if I 
could always associate with such persons. The 
Jewish community in Berlin have many such re- 
markable men. You meet among them bold and 
energetic intellects, ennobled and refined under 
The spirit of 
the venerable Moses Mendelssohn, whose writ- 


the pressure of circumstances. 


ings I have begun to read, rests upon this com- 
munity, and has given them a dignified and spir- 
itual demeanor, and their conduct shows that 
they would do honor to any position, if the sov- 
ereign could only consent to treat them as human 
beings.* The capital of Prussia contains in them 
an important element, and I would almost prophe- 
sy that this race will one day become the ruling 
power. Not as a royal residence, but as the 
home of the Jews, will Berlin gain preéminence ; 
and to have a good position in society here, it 
may perhaps be necessary to treat their religion 
with respect.” 

“ And did you promise to write in their favor? ” 
asked Henriette, looking at the count with a doubt- 
ing smile. 





* Mirabeau’s words in reference to the Israelite 
community in Berlin.—Vide “‘Sur Mosés Mendels- 
sohn, sur la Réforme politique des Juifs,”’ etc., and 
“Lettres sur Cagliostro et Lavater,”’ in the ‘‘ @iuvres 
de Mirabean,” vol. iv. 


THE CHINESE MAGIC LANTERN. 


“ Why not?” replied Mirabeau, amused at her 
curious expression. “These friends in Berlin 
fancy that whatever I write for them will be more 
favorably received because I am a Frenchman, 
for the Hebrews and the French generally have a 
sort of affinity, so that one may always reckon on 
the assistance of the other. I have no time to 
write any thing new or comprehensive, but I will 
compile a treatise in which I shall’ embody the 
pamphlet of M. von Dohm on the civil amelioration 
of the Jews.” 

The count took his seat with such a business 
air that Henriette knew he was really in earnest, 
After she left, he 
His 
pen “glided over the paper quickly, and nothing 
disturbed the silence save the crackling of the 
flames on the hearth. For several hours he did 


and she dared no longer stay. 
continued his work more rapidly than ever. 


not even raise his eyes from the sheets he was fill- 
ing with so much haste. When the dispatch was 
" finished, and he had once more glanced over it, he 
folded and addressed it to Claviére, by whom it 
He looked 
at his watch—the morning had come; but this 


was sent to Vergennes and Calonne. 


did not cause him to cease his labors. Placing 
the dispatch on a table, ready for the courier, 
who was expected shortly, he passed on to other 
business, for which he seemed to have a greater 
liking. 

A loud knocking was heard at the street-door, 
and urgently renewed, as no one was ready to at- 
It immediately at- 
tracted Mirabeau’s attention, and thinking that it 


tend at such an early hour. 


might be an important message, he awakened his 
valet Boyer, in order to send him down and see 
what was wanted. 

Boyer returned accompanied by a man whom 
the count recognized at once as one of his couriers, 
who appeared to have just returned from Paris. 
He handed a letter, saying that it was of impor- 
tance, and that he had been ordered to deliver it 
as soon as possible on his arrival in Berlin. The 
address was in the handwriting of Claviére. 

After making himself acquainted with the con- 
tents, the count found, to his no small astonish- 
ment, that his presence was suddenly required in 





147 


the capital of France. The minister of foreign 
affairs, Count de Vergennes, was so anxious to see 
Mirabeau, that his departure was requested the 
same day on which he received the communica- 
tion. Claviére intimated that the reason for this 
recall was, that the last accounts received about 
the court and the political condition of Prussia 
had made a profound impression on the French 
government, and that Louis XVI. and his minis- 
ters having exchanged opinions on the subject, it 
was desirable to have Mirabeau present, so as to 
be able to question him personally. 

The count mused a moment, and an unusual 
cheerfulness took possession of him. He sent off 
the courier, intrusting him with the dispatch, 
and, as he would arrive in the cabinet ofthe min- 
ister of foreign affairs several hours earlier, he was 
ordered to announce the count’s immediate arrival. 
He then called for his valet de chambre, to have 
his toilet attended to. 

Madame de Nehra also appeared, having been 
awakened by the noise in the house, and suspect- 
ing a sudden departure of her friend. She rushed 
toward him, clung to his arm, and asked, almost 
breathlessly, whether she had heard correctly of 
his going to Paris, and when he would return, and 
whether it would not be better for her to accom- 
pany him. 

Mirabeau tried to calm her in the most affec- 
tionate manner, but did not permit the valet to be 
interrupted in his duty of dressing him. He in- 
formed her that she and Coco would have to await 
his return quietly, as he was obliged to travel very 
fast, but hoped soon to have settled the important 
state affairs concerning which he was recalled, and 
would be back in four or at most six weeks. 

Henriette was silent, but Mirabeau noticed ‘the 
After he 
was fully and carefully dressed, he sent away 


tears she was endeavoring to conceal. 


Boyer on matters pertaining to the journey ; then, 
approaching his friend, who was standing at the 
window, he embraced her and kissed away het 
tears, while she regarded him gravely and doubt 
ingly. ‘Only be of good courage, Countess Yet 
Lee!” he said. 
shall be more cheerful than you ever saw me be- 


“We soon meet again, and 1 


148 


fore This recall proves that the French ministry 
is beginning to appreciate me. In Paris the au- 
thorities have finally discovered of what value to 
them are my observations and knowledge of state 
affairs as well as my insight into the real necessities 
of the times. I will give my government. all the 
information it may desire, and show how in Prus- 
sia a’ party may be organized of great assistance 
to us. An alliance of France, England, and 
Prussia, would give a new and successful turn to 
European politics.” 

** And what thanks will you receive for all your 
labors, Mirabeau?” asked Henriette, slowly rais- 
ing her eyes, 

“It will be seen,” replied the count, stamping 
on the floor, “that not to appoint me to a dis- 
tinguished position in the service of the state, is 
not consulting the interests of France! Is it not 
a shame that a man like Count Esterno is ambas- 
sador from our government to the Prussian court ? 
That empty and unstable man, who knows and 
hears nothing—who has no heart or head, eyes 
or ears, for the advantage of his country—cannot 
possibly remain here if my ideas as to a new 
I would 


accept this place myself as soon as my views are 


foreign policy receive any attention. 


adopted.* I-could make amends for the neglect 
of my predecessor, and I am sure that is the in- 
I have 
made myself necessary to them here, although I 


tention of those who now send for me. 


would take any other position in Germany where 
I could work for France according to my own 
opinions.” 

Henriette cast down her eyes, shaking her 
head at the exciting hopes of her friend. 

“You may rely on it, this time, child,” con- 
tinued Mirabeau, ‘‘for has not the government 
already shown itself liberal to me in money mat- 
ters? I cost them much more now than as a 
regular ambassador. The original sum for my 
monthly expenditures was one thousand francs, 
but this has been raised fivefold. I have, of 
course, many extra expenses: our manner of 
life, the expense of dress at northern courts, 


COUNT MIRABEAU. 


the equipages and horses, without which no 
cavalier can take a suitable rank in Berlin, cost 
money; then, I have many private outlays, in 
making journeys to different parts of Ger- 
many, to procure materials for my work. The 
King of France, who undertakes to pay me from 
his privy purse, will certainly soon have to in- 
crease my salary.* But in return I give him such 
a thorough knowledge of the Prussian state, that 
the future of the whole German empire can be 
directed at Paris according to the pleasure of our 
government.” 

Henriette asked, with a heavy heart, at what 
hour Mirabeau intended to depart. He replied 
that he would certainly leave in the evening— 
perhaps sooner, if he could return in time from 
She left 
the room to attend to her domestic affairs, and 


some necessary visits he had to make. 


make preparations for her friend’s journey. Half 
an hour afterwards she called him to breakfast. 
Sitting opposite Henriette at the table, and en- 
deavoring to amuse her by cheerful conversation, 
he was asked why he was attired so early in his 
choicest and most elegant suit, as about to attend 
a court levee. 

“Not exactly that,” replied Mirabeau, lightly, 
“but I intend to visit Prince Henry, the old king’s 
brother, for I do not think it advisable to return 
to Paris without once more confidentially con- 
versing with his royal highness. You know he 
was. a friend of mine, and guided my steps on 
this new ground, giving me many hints how I 
could further the interests of France in Prussia. 
However, I do not know what his personal opin- 
ion of me may be at this moment. I must have 
a definite word or two from him before I go, so 
that I may have something important to announce 
at the council to which I am called in Paris. I 
am the more anxious to see the prince, because I 
was told by a reliable person, at the party last 
night which I attended at M. de Dohm’s house, 
that Prince Henry had intimate relations with the 
French cabinet, especially with M. de Calonne, 
and was in some sense the cause of my being 





* Peuchet, vol. iii., p. 2. 





* Montigny, vol. iv., p. 342. 


THE CHINESE MAGIC LANTERN. 


sent to Berlin.* In becoming a diplomatist, one 
“is in danger of also becoming a dupe.” 

“How is that, my friend—have you been de- 
ceived by any one?” asked Henriette, anxiously, 
clinging to him in her usual manner when uneasy 
about him. 

“No, but I was influenced without being aware 
of it,” replied Mirabeau, “for M. von Dohm, who 
is the best-instructed man in this city, and whom 
no state secret escapes, told:me yesterday, in con- 
fidence, that Prince Henry had often advised the 
French government to remove the incapable 
Count Esterno from the position of ambassador 
to this court, and replace him by a man of more 
energy and character. In the political circles of 
this city it is taken for granted that I am to be 
the future envoy to Prussia, and that Prince Henry 
urged our ministers to send me here, so that I 
might become acquainted with the routine of 
business as well as the persons with whom I 

- would have to associate. When I heard that, I 
remembered in an instant that Claviére told me 
before my departure that the prince desired the 
presence of an expert observer in Berlin, to act in 
concert with him, and to serve the French 
interest. 

“By an especial recommendation from our cab- 
inet I was told to pay my respects to the old gen- 
tleman, and he has always kindly received me. 
But as, in spite of much good advice, he has lat- 
terly treated me very cavalierly, I thought myself 
mistaken in considering him a useful patron. 
Now I will see if I cannot force from him, in the 
course of conversation, some expressions, showing 
how far he is inclined to assist the French policy, 
to which he is sincerely devoted. If I can take 
any thing so definite with me to Paris (and such 
intimations can be better communicated orally), I 
shall have an undeniable success in my mission 
here. Besides, I wish to ask him for a few lines 
addressed to M. de Calomne, telling him that 
Count Esterno must soon have a successor, who 
is in relation with the right men, and who has the 
confidence of their party. If I can see the old 





* Thiébault, ‘* Frédéric le Grand, ou mes Souvenirs,” 
vol, ii., p. 194. 





149 


prince at once, I must depart before evening, for 
my presence is urgent in Paris.” 

“No,” replied Henriette, ‘you cannot leave be- 
fore to-night. Every thing does not depend on 
polities as far as you are concerned; you must 
also have a little consideration for Coco and Yet- 
Lee. This evening we are to have a Chinese 
magic lantern, as I mentioned to you yesterday, 
and you must be present at the performance, if 
you area man of your word. Weare about to 
enact a comedy in which all depends’ on politics, 
and where the paternally-minded Emperor Toutce- 
quevousvoudrez makes his whole people jump over 
a bamboo-cane. Besides, a German song will be 
sung, which M. Coco, principal actor to Count 
Mirabeau, has been practising for several days, 
and who will doubtlessly acquit himself with great 
credit.” * 

“These are tricks of my valet de chambre 
Boyer, designed to retard my departure,” said the 
count, smiling, “The good-for-nothing fellow has 
taught you these things, and they may be very 
amusing on a long winter’s evening in Berlin. 
However, not to grieve you at parting, I will have 
a seat in the parterre of your theatre, and take 
my leave only after the conclusion.” Mirabeau’s 
carriage was announced, and he departed on his 
visits, the last one intended for the palace of 
Prince Henry. cz 

Toward evening the count returned with some 
signs of ill-humor, telling Henriette, whom he 
found busy with preparations for the amusement, 
that all he had undertaken during the day had 
failed. 
fused himself to me, and I was turned over to the 


“ Even the miserable Count Esterno re- 


secretary of legation, for the purpose of having 
my passport viséed. Minister von Hertzberg, to 
whom I wished to say a few farewell words, is in 
Sans-Souci with the king, who desires his con- 
stant presence, and cannot bear to have him out 
of his sight. He was, however, expected to-day 
in the bureau of foreign affairs; and I called four 
times, but in vain. I really am mortified to have 
so much trouble about a clerk, for what else is 





* Montigny, vol. iv., p. 348. 


150 


Hertzberg—what else are all Prussian ministers ? 
I had about the same success at the palace. of 
Prince..Henry. Haying been announced three 
times, I was told that his royal highness had not 
yet risen, and, on account of ill-health, would 
probably not receive visits all day. When I 
called the fourth time, I was told he had just left 
to take a drive. This was so contrary to my 
former receptions at the palace, where I was priv- 
ileged to call when I pleased, that I could not 
help expressing my surprise to the prince’s ad- 
jutant, M. von Knyphausen, and I did so in quite 
an irritated tone. However, I fancy the prince 
was only a little disturbed at my importunity, for 
I discovered by a smiling expression of the adju- 
tant that his royal highness had not passed the 
day. alone in his cabinet. His visitor was the 
young dancer Rollin, who at present has great 
influence with the hero of Hohenfriedberg and 
Prague.” 

Mirabeau’s vexation was interrupted by little 
Coco, who, after great efforts, succeeded in gain- 
ing aseat on the count’s knee, without being 
specially observed; but, at length, he could not 
refrain from kindly receiving the child’s caresses, 
and regaining his good-humor, He was obliged 
to remain according to promise, and witness the 
magic-lantern performance, although he still had 
As 
soon as night set in, Mirabeau was led into the 


much to do preparatory to his departure. 


drawing-room, where the Chinese comedy was to 
be performed. 

As he was generally on very good terms with 
his family, it was no great sacrifice to delay 
his departure for their pleasure, but his thoughts 
were, already on the road to Paris, and he was 
mentally occupied with addresses to Messrs. Ver- 
gennes and Calonne. He even hoped to have an 
opportunity of personally communicating with 
King Louis XVI., and perhaps be permitted to 
pay his respects to the fair Queen Marie Antoi- 
nette. 

While thus losing himself in his thoughts, the 
count scarcely perceived that he was already in 
the realm of the Emperor Toutcequevousvoudrez, 
and that the images on the wall were in conspiracy 





COUNT MIRABEAU, 


against the bamboo-cane, which was the only sup- 
port of the kind monarch. The representation 3 
succeeded admirably ; the figures moved like real 
actors (the invention of Boyer), Coco was de- 
lighted, and Henriette, who was always easily 
satisfied, almost forgot that she would so soon be 
separated from her friend. 

“This is quite a terrible history,” whispered 
the count, putting his arm around Madame de 
Nehra, who was seated near him. “It seems as 
if the subjects of this Chinese emperor do not 
understand him. He seems to have accepted his 
promising name as readily as our Louis XVI. 
that of ‘ Friend of the People,’ and ‘ Long-desired.’ 
This shadowy monarch bestows all that is wished 
for, but, like other sovereigns, he fancies the whip 
answers all purposes. The paternal bamboo is 
always striking the people in the same place, until 
they discover that some change is necessary. The 
mistress of the emperor is probably ‘ Public Opin- 
ion,’ who, having also felt the cane of her lord, 
and, having a more delicate cuticle, cannot rest 
until she has organized a conspiracy among the 
There is historical truth.in this! The 
emperor, I see, holds his cane firmly, kisses it, 


populace. 


and weeps (an act which subdues his subjects), 
and offers to resign it, when all voluntarily pre- 
sent him their patriotic bodies, upon which the 
cane is to be laid forever, and in a solemn cere- 
mony jump over the bamboo.” 

_ Mirabeau arose; bis time had elapsed, and he 
became impatient. The servant announced the 
arrival of the travelling-carriage. “I feel very 
sad at leaving you,” he said, pressing Madame de 
Nehra to his heart. ‘‘ Who knows whether I shall 
ever feel as happy as to-night, blessed in your 
pure love, and amid these innocent amusements ? 
Your comedy is a good idea for me to reflect upon 
in my journey—you have reminded me forcibly of 
a despotic government. Your simple sports re- 
flect wisdom, for you are right in your play of 
shadows, so long as the question in political sys- 
tems is about any thing except the happiness of 
the people; then the cane will always represent 
the best and strongest government. If I were a 


sensible man (which I never pretend to be), I 


THE DEATH OF FREDERICK THE GREAT. 


would remain with you in your cosy room, instead 
‘ of rushing head-foremost in pursuit of some re- 
ality among unsubstantial expectations in Paris. 
Perhaps I am eine nothing but a shadowy 
actor.” 

The postilion blew his horn, which resounded 
merrily in the cold night air. Henriette accom- 
panied her friend to the carriage, making him 
promise soon to send for her, should he not intend 


to make Berlin his future residence. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 
THE DEATH OF FREDERICK THE GREAT. 


Count MrraBeav returned to the Prussian cap- 
ital after a short stay at Paris. With the ex- 
ception of occasional visits to the courts of Bruns- 
_ wick and Dresden, he was more busily than ever 
engaged in his political observations, and awaited 
with profound interest an event which would affect 
the national relations of all Europe. 

The midsummer of 1786 had come. The death- 
struggle of Frederick the Great had already lasted 
five months, and the long-expected catastrophe 
bad not yet occurred, In the beginning of Au- 
gust favorable reports were circulated, for the 
king seemed to be deluded by an idea of re- 
covery. The physician in ordinary, Dr. Frese, 
narrowly escaped disgrace for having dared to 
pronounce the word “dropsy,” when asked his 
conscientious opinion of his patient’s disease. 

There were many, however, who believed that 
the hour of Frederick’s dissolution was near; and 
Mirabeau, driven by his usually uncontrolled im- 
pulses, had one of his best horses brought on the 
night of the 16th of August, to ride to Potsdam 
for definite information. During several weeks 
he was ready at a moment’s notice to be near the 
expiring monarch, for he was very anxious to send 
the news of his death as early, and with as full 
an account as possible, to the French ministry.* 





* Mirabean, ‘‘ Histoire Secréte de la Cour de Berlin” 
(1789), vol. i., p. 56. 





151 


As Mirabeau was about to mount, he noticed a 






friend, with whom he 
hastening toward him. 
lute the new-comer, thinking that he might have 
It was the Baron Noldé, 
a young nobleman from Courland, who had re- 
sided several months in Berlin, and attached him- 
self to Mirabeau; they met every day in friendly 


news to communicate. 


intercourse, not only in society but in the domes- 
tic circle. Noldé was good-natured and childlike; 
having become a playfellow of Coco, and an at- 
tentive friend of Madame de Nehra, he consid- 
ered himself as an indispensable member of what 
the count loved to call his “tribe,” making him- 
Mirabeau had further 
captivated the baron, by becoming the latter’s ad- 


self useful in many ways. 


viser in some difficulties with his family, one of 
the first in Courland, who ardently desired Noldé’s 
return to his native province, where an important 
position was offered him; but he preferred to’ 
withdraw himself, having a passionate hatred 
against Russia. He hoped to gain favor with the 
French government through Mirabeau’s influence. 

Noldé had shown himself indefatigable in 
bringing reliable information from Sans-Souci, 
having good opportunities, on account of his ac- 
quaintance with most. of the diplomatists then in 
Prussia. It was now nearly midnight, when the 
young man hastened breathlessly toward Mira- 
beau, to inform him that the Saxon ambassador 
had just dispatched a messenger to Dresden, to 
announce to his court the probably immediate 
dissolution of King Frederick. The baron added 
that the Saxon envoy would not have done so if 
he had not received something reliable from Sans- 
Souci. 

Placing his hand on the neck of his impatient 
charger, the count exclaimed : “‘ We might do the 
same thing; for, if all we hear is true, the strug- 
gle cannot at most last longer than a few days. 
I also could have sent my courier to Paris. At 
the moment of his arrival in that capital, the 
death of the king would have occurred. If I 
were the regular representative of France I would 
certainly do so; but in my position I must be 
prudent, and I dare not waste money. But I can- 


152 


not remain at home to-night. I must start for 
Potsdam, and it would give me pleasure if you 
accompany me, Baron Noldé.” The young man 
gladly accepted this invitation, and they waited 
in the street until another horse was brought 
from Mirabeau’s stable. 

“The departure of the Saxon courier to Dres- 
den annoys me,” the count began, with evident 
restlessness. ‘‘ How easily the news might reach 
Paris in that way, and when my messenger ar- 
rives at the French ministry—why, I have com 
municated no information that is not already 
known. Iran after our ambassador all day yes- 
terday, to assure myself of his opinion as to the 
state of affairs, and discover what he himself 
may have heard; but, you know, when Esterno 
is wanted he is not to be found. First, I was told 
that he was dining at Charlottenburg; and, when 
I followed him, he had left long before to visit the 
queen at Schénhausen. I drove back to Berlin, 
donned my new court suit, almost killed my best 
carriage-horses, and hastened to the queen’s resi- 
dence. I entered about the same time as Ester- 
no, and found a select company around her maj- 
esty, talking cheerfully of the most insignificant 
things. No one pretended to believe in the dan- 
gerous condition of the king, and the queen cer- 
tainly had heard of nothing to make her uneasy. 
Every one chatted and laughed, and her majes- 
ty graciously took notice even of my breastpin, 
and conversed with me about it. She had been 
told that I had recently visited Castle Rheinsberg 
to see Prince Henry, and remarked how happy 
she was thére when crown princess. You can 
imagine, however, how little I was blinded by all 
this, for I have had no rest since; and a convic- 
tion that the king’s death is at hand drives me at 
midnight to Sans-Souci.” * 

The horse intended for Noldé was led up, when 
Mirabeau, with his friend, started at a gallop, 
permitting no servant to follow them. They took 
the shortest route to the Potsdam Gate, and then 
over the silent public road. 

“The king must be in a critical condition,” said 





* Mirabeau, “‘ Histoire Secréte de la Cour de Berlin,” 
lettre xiv. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


Mirabeau, “ for I had intelligence by means of my 
doves this evening—they really serve me well. 
What a happy thought that was of yours, Noldé, 
to arrange a pigeon-post for me between Berlin 
and Potsdam ! 
occurred, it is to be expected that Potsdam will 


As soon as Frederick’s death has 


be closed, so that no messenger could depart. 
To-day my pigeons returned with a note contain- 
ing these words, written by my correspondent: 
‘Violent fever and swelling.” I am afraid that 
we are too late to be admitted, for I was told that 
all the bridges around Potsdam would be raised 
as soon as the death of his majesty occurred.” 

They were passing through a village where a 
peculiar movement before the inn attracted their 
attention, At the gate lay a dying horse; and 
the rider, who had dismounted, was knocking 
vigorously at the doors and windows to arouse 
the landlord. When the latter finally appeared, 
the man demanded another horse in the name of 
the king, in order to be enabled to continue his 
journey to Berlin. 

Mirabeau and Noldé alighted, to enter into con- 
versation with this,man, who appeared to be a 
royal messenger, hoping to gain information from 
him. They were told that from the preceding 
afternoon, King Frederick was unconscious, and 
all around him were in the utmost anxiety. The 
courier was on his way to Berlin for other physi- 
cians, when his horse failed him. , 

This recital so excited the sympathy of the in- 
mates of the inn, that they hastened to arouse 
the inhabitants of the village, and everywhere 
could be heard exclamations of sorrow. A horse 
was soon provided for the messenger, and he re- 
sumed his journey with the utmost speed. 

The count and his companion rode on in silence. 
The day was near dawning, and a cool breeze 
swept over the fields. “I fancy I see the dying 
king passing away with the morning mist,” said 
Mirabeau, slightly shivering in his saddle. “ Why 
does the hour of a monarch’s dissolution appear 
of so much more importance than that of a poor 
laborer? The death of the great proves the in- 
significance of man. Every ruler while he lives 
might be a god, if he could only resolve to be a 


\ 


THE DEATH OF FREDERICK THE GREAT. 


man ; but when he dies the delusion ends. Peo- 
ple are always ready to love their sovereign ; and, 
when they do not, he himself has uprooted their 
affection. They honor in the monarch the pos- 
sibility of the good, and accredit him with the 
power of its execution, for they are magnanimous 
and long-suffering. They feel, in their simplicity, 
as if there could be no greater calamity than the 
death of a king. Any one of the poor wretches 
in yonder village would sacrifice his best horse 
on a useless mission for the dying Frederick. 
And what has he ever done to ameliorate the 
condition of his subjects? They starved during 
his life—they will starve after his death.” 

.» The two riders, having rested themselves and 
their horses a short time in the forest, soon re- 
sumed their route to the gates of Potsdam, 
through which they passed at a gallop. The 
streets were silent, for the inhabitants of the 
city, for the most part, had not yet arisen; but 
here and there a light could be seen, and some 
citizen leaving his residence. When Mirabeau 
and Noldé reached the Brandenburg Gate, near 
the Egyptian obelisk, they noticed on the road 
many persons on a pilgrimage to the palace at 
Sans-Souci, to receive a confirmation of their 
‘worst fears. 

The count and his companion did not halt until 
they came to the gate leading to the heights of 
the castle. The windows were in a blaze of light, 
and along the halls could be seen the hurrying 
up and down of the inmates. The crowd outside, 
having gained access to the highest terrace, added 
to the unusual and solemn spectacle. The silence 
was hardly interrupted by a whisper. 

Marabeau and Noldé dismounted and mingled 
with the crowd, pushing their way to the prin- 
cipal porch, by which Mirabeau had entered so 
excitedly when he paid his visit to the king. The 
recollection of this remarkable interview never 
faded from his mind, although it had not fulfilled 
his wishes—that vision of royalty powerfully af- 
fected the count now when he thought of the 
last struggle of the great king. 

Many equipages arrived with distinguished and 
noble persons, demanding admission into the 





153 


palace. Mirabeau was too busy with his reflec- 
tions to notice many of his more intimate ac- 
quaintances, who had come on the same mission. 
“These poor people move me,” he whispered to 
his companion, referring to the sympathizing 
crowd ; “ they stand in their quiet grief as still as 
statues. They are nobler in their sorrow than 
their sovereign in his agony. When I think of 
him in his apartment, said to be shockingly offen- 
sive, and in clothes that he would not change for 
months, this picture is sad indeed, and I am com- 
pelled to look upon the populace as comparatively 
The monarch dies, but his 
glory lives in the people!” 


pure and spiritual. 


Some one gently touched Mirabeau’s hand, and, 
looking around, he thought he recognized in the 
dim light the figure of Prince Henry, who had just 
driven up, and leaving his carriage had found his 
way so far without attracting special attention. 
The aged prince seemed to find some difficulty in 
walking to the palace, and remained a moment 
near the entrance. He was accompanied by his 
adjutant, Marquis de Luchet. Mirabeau hastened 
to greet his royal highness with all the formality 
due uim, but was restrained by an urgent gesture. 
The count noticed that his rather harsh coun- 
tenance, which might easily lead a stranger to 
suppose him deficient in sentiment, bore an ex- 
pression of pain, and traces of tears. 

“How is the king?” asked the prince, famil- 
iarly taking the arm of Mirabeau, who replied 
that he had not been permitted to enter, and only 
appeared, as so many others did, to satisfy a sor- 
rowful curiosity. 

“This is the third time to-night that I have 
been here, to make personal inquiries,” remarked 
Prince Henry, softly. “I am so overwhelmed 
with grief, that I have not ventured to enter the 
chamber of his majesty ; but at the door I have 
heard his death-rattle—a fearful sound to me. I 
think I hear it now.” 

“It is the wailing cry of his last moments re- 
sounding through the halls,” said the count, 
lowering his head to listen. / 

“ Go with me into one of the side-chambers of 


the palace,” replied the prince. ‘“ We shall there 


154 


find Minister von Hertzberg or Count von Gértz, 
who can tell us all. I saw Councillor Selle when 
I was here at one o’clock, He told me a change 
had then taken place in the king’s countenance. 
‘The good man wept, for his majesty was beyond 
the skill of physicians.” 

“Tt is just twelve minutes after two,” said 
Mirabeau, looking at his watch. “The morning 
approaches. If your royal highness permit. it, 
my companion and myself will follow you into the 
interior of the castle.” 

Prince Henry walked before them, deeply sigh- 
ing. In the corridor he whispered to the count: 
“When the event has taken place, we must begin 
our political operations anew; but, whatever may 
- happen, I remain the faithfully-devoted friend of 
France, and I beg you to assure M. de Calonne of 
this at the first opportunity. Under all circum- 
stances I shall labor to make your policy the 
guiding-star of Prussia, for only as a member of 
that system can my country retain its position in 
Europe.” ‘ 

“‘ But what are we to do with M. von Hertzberg ?” 
asked Mirabeau, in a low voice. ‘ His great in- 
fluence seems to be exerted even on the successor 
tothe throne of Prussia. I am more convinced 
than ever that it will be necessary to remove this 
minister. Great Britain has succeeded in forming 
an English party here, making every effort to gain 
influence. If Prussia become the ally of Great 
Britain, all our labor is lost. 
will then take a different direction, and who knows 


what may happen?” 


European politics 


“ As to Hertzberg, I have followed your advice, 
and will continue to do so!” replied the prince, 
in a lower voice. ‘ You counselled me to disguise 
my hatred toward him, and pretend to a recon- 
ciliation, to lull my nephew and the minister into 
security. I have found this very salutary, count, 
within the last few days, and I thank you.* This, 
I see, is the only way in which we can make 
Frederick William accessible to my ideas, and per- 
haps we may succeed in saving our position, un 





* Mirabeau, “‘ Histoire Secréte de la Cour de Berlin,” 
vol. i., p. 50. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


consciously drawing Prussia’s new monarch over 
to the interests of France.” 

During this hastily-whispered conversation they 
had passed through the corridor, and gained one 
of the anterooms, where the servants were in great 
excitement. On the entrance of the prince and 
his companions, a respectful silence ensued, and 
his royal highness was about to beckon to one of 
the attendants, when a side-door opened, and 
Minister von Hertzberg appeared in overwhelming 
grief. On seeing the prince he turned to him, as 
if to give some information, but the loud lamen- 
tations resounding through all the halls and cham- 
bers of Sans-Souci, told too plainly the sad tidings 
that the minister intended to communicate. Prince 
Henry could not restrain his tears. He leaned 
for a moment on the shoulder of M. von Hertz- 
berg, whose honest face was full of deep and 
natural sorrow, while it was hardly possible to 
doubt the sincerity of the prince’s friendship tow- 
ard him. 

“Frederick the Great is no more!’ was heard 
The valet de chambre, Striitzki, 
who had closed the monarch’s eyes, came from 


on every side. 


the royal chamber and told those in the ante- 
room that, by the watch hanging above his mas- 
ter’s head, it was twenty minutes past two when 
he ceased to breathe. The information passed to 
the people gathered near the palace, and was 
transmitted to the city, with every expression of 
heartfelt. sorrow. 

Prince Henry ordered his equipage, to return 
to the mansion in Potsdam, where he had taken 
up his residence for several days, his health not 
He 
took leave of M. von Hertzberg with a hearty 
shake of his hand, glancing at Mirabeau with an 


permitting him to stay longer at Sans-Souci. 


expression of as much secret understanding as 
intentional reserve, on account of the minister’s 
presence. 

Immediately afterward, M. von Hertzberg de- 
parted, and in great haste drove to Potsdam, to 
announce to Frederick William, now King of 
Prussia, the news so important to him. 

Mirabeau asked his friend Baron Noldé to ride 
to Berlin as quickly as possible, and finish the 


PRUSSIA AND MIRABEAU. 


dispatch, nearly ready on the count’s table, by 
adding a few words communicated to him. The 
young man had shown himself so apt, that he 
could be intrusted with important commissions, 
and he left to expedite the courier to Paris, 
Mirabeau himself intending to remain a short 
time longer at the palace. 

Scarcely fifteen minutes elapsed when Freder- 
ick William Il. arrived, attended by M. von Hertz- 
berg. The handsome figure of the young king 
expressed at this moment as much dignity as sor- 
row, and he was keenly criticised by the French 
count, who had withdrawn into a niche of the 
anteroom. The monarch and the minister en- 
tered the chamber where lay the remains of the 
great Frederick, but soon retired, as if in consul- 
tation. Not long after, M. von Hertzberg reap- 
peared alone, his breast decorated with the order 
of the Black Eagle, which the heir of Prussia’s 
throne presented to him as a token of gratitude 
- as well as of unanimity of opinion and purpose. 

Mirabeau departed in haste, and, as he pro- 
ceeded to Berlin, he could not refrain from rein- 
ing his horse in the middle of the road, as if to 
bow in worship to the beautiful autumn morn- 
ing. Saluting the sun, he never felt more in- 


clined than now to declare its eternal nature, for 


he sighed in remembrance of transient human 
fame. One of the most distinguished men in 
the world’s history having just ceased to breathe, 
and his body fast passing to corruption, Mirabeau 
turned to the glory of the day as the best sym- 


bol of purity and unending life. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


PRUSSIA AND MIRABEAU. 


Kine Frepericx Witiiam II., after assuming 


the affairs of state in Sans-Souci, rode to his cap- 
ital, accompanied by his eldest son. The people 
everywhere received him with enthusiastic ex- 
clamations, following the royal cavalcade to the 


square before the armory and the Linden, where 





155 


the troops were to take the oath of allegiance. 
Among the spectators were Mirabeau and his 
friend Noldé, who seemed to be greatly interested. 
At daybreak the soldiers had been mustered in 
all parts of the city and formed into close ranks, 
while the words of the oath passed from man to 
man. 

“This ceremony has something grand in it,” 
remarked the French count to his companion, 
and it would make a deeper impression if the 
formula were not quite so long. The whole 
meaning is: ‘I am a king. I confide in my army 
because Iam not sure of my realm!’* But these 
martial parades will probably have less promi- 
nence in future.’’ ‘ 

“The new sovereign is said to possess some 
military capacity,” replied Baron Noldé, “and if 
certain intriguers, into whose hands he fell while 
crown prince, do not lead him further astray, he 
would be warrior enough to preserve the army 
of Frederick the Great, and become a renowned 
I think, therefore, that it ought to be 
the object of the liberal party in Prussia to make 


leader. 


a soldier of him, if possible, and keep him well 
posted in the traditions of his ancestors—to save 
him, in fact, from the Rosicrucian spiritualists, 
who will attempt to work upon his imagination.” 

“ Ah,” said Mirabeau, laughing, “ these are the 
consequences of your introduction to the house 
of the fair Wilhelmina Rietz, and your invitations 
to the platonic banquets she gives to the learned. 
I know that this idea of yours is that of the 
Charlottenburg party, and gallantry induces you 
to subscribe to it.” 

“You are again bantering me, Mirabeau,”’ re- 
plied Noldé, almost angrily. ‘“ Yet you know 
very well that it was only to please you that I 
asked the English ambassador to make me ac- 
quainted with this Circe of Frederick William. 
We often obtained important news from that 
source, and it would be a loss to us, if the Rosi- 
crucian party, headed by General von Bischoffs- 
werder, should influence the king so far as to re- 


move Rietz. The new mistress, whom the cour- 





* Mirabeau, “ Histoire Secréte de la Cour de Ber- 
lin,” vol. i., p. 60. 


156 


tiers wish to force upon the monarch, has already 
made the condition that her predecessor with 
her two children must be exiled to Lithuania.” 
“But the king will never consent to it,” said 
“T saw Mdlle. von Voss lately, and I 
will give you my opinion. Even if M. von Bis- 


the count. 


choffswerder should succeed in persuading Fred- 
erick William II. to accept this fair lady by 
threatening him with the displeasure of the spir- 
its, a substantial beauty like Rietz need have no 
fear; after a few months her lover will return to 
her. 
charm the king very long. She is too gentle and 


Mdlle. von Voss is not pretty, and will not 


languid, and will probably fall into a decline, 
when Rietz will regain her ascendency ; he will 
remember her beauty as one of the fairy tales of 
youth, that are seldom forgotten. I know women 
of her stamp—men who once come within their 
influence, always return, whatever may part them 
I believe that Wilhelmina Rietz pos- 
sesses a certain honesty in her love, and the king 


Tell 


for a time. 


may wander from but never remove her. 
her so, baron, when you see ber.” 

“J thank you for your commission,” replied 
Noldé, laughing. 
word of honor, that I have never attempted to 


“But I assure you, on my 


be on particularly friendly terms with this lady. 
I think, however, that she unites amiability and 
frankness to very remarkable beauty, and that 
one may even talk sensibly with her. My interest 
is much heightened because the blockheads at 
They do not 
do so on account of any special interest in vir- 


court are beginning to slander her. 


tue, but they fear in this woman what is ingen- 
uous and sincere in sentiment, because it might 
induce the king to act nobly, and then what will 
become of General von Bischoffswerder and his 
clique ?” 

The military ceremony at this time more par- 
ticularly attracted Mirabeau and his friend. Gen- 
eral Méllendorf stood near them, and seemed so 
deeply moved during the administration ‘of the 
oath to him, that tears burst from his eyes. He 
beckoned the officers in his vicinity to approach, 
and, standing in their midst, exclaimed: “ You 
have lost the greatest of kings, the first among 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


heroes. And I—what shall I say? I have lost 
my friend!” * The mournful manner of the 
old wounded warrior made a deep impression on 
all about him. Many wept, and even on the 
platform on which the diplomatic corps were, and 
near which this scene occurred, some emotion was 
visible. 

“T have been astonished at the numerous in- 
different countenances in the streets, especially 
to-day, and was inclined to make contemptuous 
reflections, but this sorrow for the deceased king 
changes my ideas,” said Mirabeau to his com- 
panion. “These Prussian officers manifest much 
natural regret and honesty, such as I have seldom 
met with.” 

When the review ended, Mirabeau shook hands 
with Noldé, asking the latter to ride immediately 
to Charlottenburg, and pay a visit to the villa of 
the fair Rietz. 

The baron was surprised, and seemed to ask 
an explanation, but the count said: “ My diplo- 
matic friend does not seem to comprehend why 
this visit is so urgent to-day. Nevertheless, go; 
for many reasons I should like to know how 
affairs are there. Mlle. Rietz is like a cipher-let- 
‘ter to me at present, from which I must discover 
what is to be expected in the future. The new 
turn in Prussian politics is closely allied with her 
charms. If Messrs. von Bischoffswerder and 
Wollner succeed in displacing her by Mile. von 
Voss, their party will have gained a victory over 
the inclinations of his majesty, and we may then 
report to Paris, that the mystic party, who had 
gained the ear of the crown prince, will have the 
decisive vote in his reign. For if he renounces a 
favorite who has been his from her fourteenth 
year, whom he educated, and with whom he read 
Rousseau and Shakespeare, this party must have 
obtained an extraordinary influence. The days 
would be indeed past when Frederick William 
and his mistress amused themselves with the 
story of Sir John Falstaff, and when the king 
predicted to her that he would resemble that 
brave knight, while Wilhelmina measured her 





* Mirabeau, “ Lettres & Mauvillon,” p. 18. 


PRUSSIA AND MIRABEAU. 


lover to see how near was the resemblance al- 
ready.” * 

Noldé was ready to execute Mirabeau’s com- 
mission, promising to return as soon as possible, 
after having made his observations at the resi- 
dence of Mile. Rietz. 

The count added: “On your report depends 
whether I pay a visit to-day to General von Bis- 
choffswerder. If the Rosicrucians take posses- 
sion of the field (and we shall know that from the 
fate of the lady you are going to see), it will be 


worth our while to attempt immediate terms with. 


these people, and I must begin to-day with the 
general. I hear that he intends to remain in 
Berlin until evening, and then accompany the 
If Mile. Rietz gain the vic- 
tory, these gentlemen are mere bubbles on the 


king to Sans-Souci. 


surface.” 

“Tf Mile. Rietz remain, she may thank you for 
it, count,” replied Noldé, smiling, “for it would 
- be owing to the memorial you sent the king yes- 
terday, recommending to him a liberal reform in 
every department of his state. What a strange 
combination! The preservation of the king’s old 
favorite, and the reception of the progressive 


ideas of the century, are in this instance one and ° 


the same thing.” 

“Whatever it may be,’ replied Mirabeau, 
thoughtfully, “‘the paper I sent Frederick Wil- 
liam II. is good, reviewing many fruitful topics.+ 
I worked at it in the last days of the former 
monarch, and finished it in a very solemn frame 
of mind on the morning of his death. Accom- 
panied with a letter I sent it off yesterday, and 
am convinced that it has reached its destination. 
If Mile. Rietz is still in a position to know any 
thing, ask her whether his majesty has received a 
manuscript from me, and whether he will honor 
me with a reply.” 

“From what you have told me,” said the baron, 
“‘ your ideas are beyond the weak intellect of the 
present king. His nerves can’ better endure some 





* Related by Countess Lichtenan. 

+ Lettre remise 4 Frédéric Guillaume II., roi régnant 
de Prusse, le jour méme de son avénement au tréne, 
par le Comte Mirabeau. Berlin, 1787. 





’ 


157 


apparition evoked by the charlatans Bischoffs- 
werder and Wdllner, than the ideas you conjure 
him to accept. And do you really believe, Mira- 
beau, that a young state, like Prussia, will accept 
them when they are too new even for France, and 
which your creative genius has conceived for the 
immediate well-being of your native country ?” 
“My friend,” replied the count, “have you 
never heard of Archimedes? He required but a 
place for his lever beyond the earth, and then 
proposed to lift it from its orbit. 
consider Prussia; my ideas are my lever in the 
coming revolution. And what was it I proposed 
to King Frederick William? First, I reminded 
him that he had succeeded to the throne at a 
most auspicious moment, living, as we do, in an 


Such a place I 


age that every day becomes more enlightened, 
and in harmony with us. Then I begged him to 
give as much liberty to his subjects as they could 
bear and use, for by it his royal authority would 
only become strengthened and ennobled. 

“He should accept the principle I have laid 
down in all my writings, that the world should 
not be governed too much. I recommended, as 
the first step to this reformation, the abolition of 
the military slavery in his states, for the barbar- 
ous law enforcing on every Prussian the duty of 
being in the service from his eighteenth to his 
sixtieth year, and even longer, is a dishonor to 
the nation, and ought to be replaced by a differ- 
ent system of recruiting, more suitable to the 
public and more in accordance with notions of 
freedom. I proposed, therefore, the organization 
of a national guard, the idea of liberty being best 
preserved and expressed in that way. Then I 
demanded, for all in the state, the right of vol- 
untary and untaxed emigration; of the pur- 
chase of the estates of the nobles; the abroga- 
tion of the privileges of the aristocracy, and the 
limitation of the nobility; always a great curse to 
monarchies. I then combated the prejudice that 
had hitherto estranged the military and civil de- 
partments, by which the army may at last en- 
danger the throne, threatening the government 
with anarchy. I demanded also that the judges’ 
should not be deposed, and that they be paid 


158 


trom the public treasury and not from the court- 
fees. 

“ Besides, I asked the King of Prussia to open 
public workshops, and be the first monarch in 
whose states all that desire may find employment 
—this is one of the first laws of Nature, and the 
true and only bond of society; for every man 
who is willing to use his skill or strength, and 


is idle, becomes a natural enemy of his race, and 


has indeed a right to carry on a war against 
society. Everywhere in the country—in the 
villages, in the cities—such facilities for labor 
should be given at the king’s cost, and any man, 
no matter whence he comes, should have work, 
and enjoy its fair compensation, the whole nation 
thus learning the value of time, skill, and indus- 
try. I advocated also public instruction, the 
freedom of the press, and an unrestricted toler- 
ation in matters of religion. I denounced the 
whole system of political economy which Fred- 
erick the Great had adopted and left as a legacy, 
proposing to lessen the taxes, raise the imposts 
on landed property, and make exceptions in no 
man’s favor; to open internal intercourse, and 
support honorable industry, promoting above all 
a free trade, which can flourish only where real 
liberty is known. Commerce requires nothing 
of kings, or any one else, but to be left 
alone.” * 

“T have been listening with great attention,” 
said Noldé. 
Count Mirabeau. 


“This is an array of good doctrine, 
I shall have to think on what 
I have heard during my ride to Charlottenburg; 
but, as an obedient servant of the Emperor of 
Russia, I feel indisposed as to ideas of liberty 
that transcend my conception; like young Mai- 
kater, I cannot see the sun without sneezing.” 
“You know I like to hear you jest, while I lose 


myself in the enthusiasm of my convictions,” 


replied the count. “And yet you natives of 
Courland have as much of the revolutionary fe- 
ver in you as Frenchmen. Indeed, I am certain 
your family desire your return, because they 


think you are the best man to direct a public 





* Mirabeau, “ Lettre & Frédéric Guillaume II.” 





COUNT MIRABEAUD. 


movement.* But I must not let you go; you 
can do better service for France than in the 
land of ezars and czarinas.” 

The friends separated in the heartiest manner. 
Noldé ordered his horse, while Mirabeau returned 
home, being anxious on Henriette’s account, who 
had lately been by no means in the best health. 


CHAPTER XXvV. 


AN AUDIENCE WITH M. YON BISCHOFFSWERDER. 


Tue remainder of the day Mirabeau remained 
at home, as he wished to undertake nothing until 
he had received Noldé’s report from Charlotten- 
burg. He was also very uneasy about Madame 
de Nehra, for whom he had engaged the services 
of his Jewish friend Dr. Hertz. 
suffering from the same disease of the lungs that 
had afflicted her in London and for a short time 


Henriette was 


in Paris—with her very delicate constitution, the 
physician feared for her life. 

During the forenoon the count received an an- 
swer to the communication he had addressed to 
the king. A royal lackey delivered the following 
letter, dated Alugust 20, 1786: 

“Q©ount MrraBeav: I have received your me- 
morial, with your note. I am much obliged to 
you for your attention, and thank you for the 
Be assured that 
anything from you will give me pleasure; and I 


many compliments you pay me. 


pray God to keep you under his gracious protec- 
tion. FREDERIC WILLIAM.” + 
“And that is all!” said Mirabeau, laughing, 
“ Any 
thing coming from me will give the king pleas- 


and throwing the paper on the table. 
ure! That is very good, and proves to me how 
incorrigible are these princes ‘by the grace of 
They only 
think of what will please them, and thus they 


God,’ on old as well as new thrones. 


are irretrievably deaf to their own interests. 





* Baron Noldé in the *‘ Histoire Secréte de la Cour de 
Berlin,” lettre xvi., p. 52. 
+ Montigny, vol. iv., p. 345. 


AN AUDIENCE WITH M. VON BISCHOFFSWERDER. 


‘ Tel est mon bon plaisir’ is the theatrical air of 
monarchs. The whole nation rushes into ruin 
with them. My ideas of reformation gave amuse- 
That would be de- 


sirable if it were not evil. I intended to give 


ment to the King of Prussia ! 


him, first pain and then conviction; but as my 
suggestions only amused him, all is lost!” 

A cavalier approached in great haste, stopping 
before the door. It was Baron Noldé, who dis- 
mounted and entered the apartment with a ges- 
ture indicating that he had been unsuccessful in 
his mission. 

“T bring strange news,” he cried, as he met the 
inquiring glance of Mirabeau. “Every thing at 
the villa in Charlottenburg is in the wildest con- 
fusion, and I have just left Mlle. Rietz, weeping 
and wailing and gnashing her teeth. Her re- 
moval is decided upon. The new policy of the 
state is indicated by the fall of the king’s mistress, 
who is not of noble blood; perhaps the Rosicru- 
- cians expect to exert a greater influence on his 
majesty by means of a woman of the aristocracy. 
Mille. von Voss succeeds, and is raised to the rank 
of Countess von Ingenheim. She is religious, how- 
ever, and demands some sort of marriage cere- 
mony ; the queen has been prevailed upon to favor 
this intrigue, and has actually given her consent. 
The consistory at Berlin has been applied to for 
an opinion as to this morganatic marriage which 
presents the fair-haired Voss to the left hand of 
the king. The queen has been promised that her 
debts shall be paid and her allowance for pin- 
money increased. The brother of the new mistress 
is to be intrusted with the portfolio of a minister 
of state.” 

““ Well, then, we know what todo,” replied the 
count, quietly. ‘I must immediately dress, for 
my visit to M. von Bischoffswerder cannot be 
postponed an instant.” He rang for his valet de 
chambre, and gave him orders for the toilet. 

“And how is that amiable creature, Mlle. 
Rietz ?” asked Mirabeau, going to the mirror and 
inspecting himself, “Did you give her the con- 
solation I confided to you? I still believe she is 
indispensable to the king, for she is the personi- 
fication of all physical beauty—but only that. 





159 


Even at the courts of our French Sultans Louis 
XIV. and Louis XV., none equalled her in that 
respect; if they had ever seen her, they would 
have deserted their Maintenons and Pompadours.” 
““Tam not sufficiently informed to pass judg- 
ment on that subject,” said Baron Noldé, “ but I 
must say that Mlle. Rietzin her grief really in- 
spired me with pity, although sometimes she sud- 
denly became very angry. I have no doubt she 
deserves better treatment. At first she was told 
that she must leave Berlin, and not approach 
within ten miles, when she began to wring her 
hands, and presently to pack her trunks; then 
came a counter-order from his majesty permitting 
her to remain at her villa. At this information 
she became so happy that I had to waltz around 
the apartment with her. She accuses Wollner of 
being the cause of her misfortune, saying that the 
blow had not been given by Bischoffswerder.” 
“That is possible,” replied Mirabeau, “ for 
Wollner was formerly a country parson, and is 
said still to be so much of a theologian that he 
actually preaches virtue to the king. Prince 
Henry (who first drew this man from obscurity by 
making him councillor of the board of revenue at 
Rheinsberg), at a confidential supper, related 


Such peo- 
ple endeavor to turn the state into a prison, 


strange stories of the zeal of W6llner. 


where you have access to nothing but a hymn- 
book, and no one has access to you but some 
praying-machine man, under the supervision of 
the police. If he and his creatures succeed in 
remodelling the Prussian state, the alternative of 
its going to ruin or becoming an example of order 
and liberty, will soon be decided. Wé6llner is, 
however, a good agriculturist, and is said to have 
made some propositions about the administration 
of the public revenue, Sound economy seems to 
have taught him that royal animalism ought not 
to remain uncultivated, but must be treated with 
prudence ; so he considers a new, pious, and aris- 
tocratic mistress for the king a step in the right 
direction, and Bischoffswerder allowed himself to 
be persuaded into this measure by his colleague, 
who probably threatened the general with the 
avenging sword of the Rosicrucians.” 


160 


Mirabeau went to the window to see if his car- 


riage was ready; then he took a pamphlet from 


the table, putting it into his pocket with a pecu- 
liar smile. 
Lavater, which I will offer to the general as a com- 


“Tt is my criticism on Cagliostro and 


pliment,” resumed the count, seeing that Noldé 
“T take it as a con- 
venient matter with which to begin a conversa- 
tion, and I hope to lead him to a favorite but dif- 
ficult subject. 


looked curiously at him. 


Bischoffswerder is but another 
Cagliostro, with less style and geniality. My 
friend, the same causes produce the same sort of 
impostors everywhere. In the Italian adventurer 
I discerned an instrument of the Jesuits, and what 
else are these Prussian charlatans? Besides, I 
hear that the Rosicrucians, whose leaders: doubt- 
lessly in this state are Bischoffswerder and W Oll- 
ner, have gained ground to a great extent. In 
Berlin and Potsdam particularly they are said to 
have many disciples, and much has been daid 
Go 
around, Noldé, and see whether it is true that this 
- deception has reached the lower classes. For, 


about their machinations among the people. 


until the present time, the disciples of spirit-seeing, 
secret tinctures, and elixirs, are among the higher 
ranks. The essence of life which the general pre- 
tends to distribute is certainly only intended for 
the nobility, and that is probably the secret of his 
share in state affairs. The citizens do not need 
such aid, and I have always considered myself as 
belonging to them in that respect as in many 
others, but I will see whether I can gain any ad- 
The friends descended the 
staircase, and Mirabeau took leave of Noldé at the 
carriage door. 


vantage from him.” 


General von Bischoffswerder was at the royal 
palace, where he occupied a suite of apartments 
during the presence of the king at Berlin. The 
count found his antechambers crowded with peo- 
ple, eagerly awaiting the moment when the man 
who was supposed to have the most powerful and 
influential position in the state, would condescend 
Mira- 
beau merely sent. in his card by the valet de cham- 


to admit them to a momentary audience. 


bre in waiting, and quietly looked forward to the 


result. Not long after, the servant reappeared, 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


politely inviting the count to enter the cabinet of 
the general, who was ready to receive him. 

Mirabeau followed into the adjoining room and 
was in the presence of M. von Bischoffswerder, 
who stood with folded arms in an attitude express- 
ing a certain degree of good-will. The count was 
surprised when beholding, for the first time, gen- 
tlemen whose appearance was different from what 
he expected, and he could scarcely repress an ejac- 
ulation at the corpulency of the general. How- 
ever, the sagacity of the visitor suggested that it 
would be much easier to dispute with a man of 
that weight, as he was probably of a comfortable 
temper, as such persons are. 

The general advanced a few steps with surpris- 
ing ease and grace, considering all the circum- 
stances, but Mirabeau remembered having heard 
that M. von Bischoffswerder was not only an 
associate of spirits—he was a huntsman and one 
of the boldest riders. In obedience to a gesture, 
the count seated himself on a sofa, while Bis- 
choffswerder with dignity took a large easy-chair 
opposite. His small gray eyes twinkling for a 
moment on Mirabeau, he asked, in a gentle and 
musical voice, how he could serve him. 

The general spoke in French, and the count 
was somewhat surprised, recollecting that the 
gentleman was a Saxon, who finds it more diffi- 
cult than any other German to pronounce the 
French language in an intelligible manner. 

“T wish to hand your excellency a pamphlet 
just issued,” said Mirabeau, with an appearance 
of unconcern. “It is my criticism on Cagliostro 
and Lavater, and as it treats of certain movements 
in both France and Germany, I thought I could 
not better aid the people than by placing my 
observations in your hands. You are intimate 
with the most hopeful of kings, and will probably 
soon give to the politics of Prussia your own im- 
pression.” 

The general accepted the tract courteously, and 
after glancing at the title-page he laid it on the 
table. 
he said. 


“JT dare say I shall learn much from it,” 
“For I confess that both these men are 
strangers to me.” He sank back into the arm- 


chair, showing signs of uneasiness. Mirabeau 


AN AUDIENCE WITH M. VON BISCHOFFSWERDER. 


looked at him searchingly and saw that some 
drops of perspiration stood on M, von Bischoffs- 
werder’s brow. 

“He recognizes the wolf prowling about the 
sheepfold,” thought the count. “I wonder how 
he will resist my attacks ?” 

“‘T have no influence,” said the general, piously 
raising his eyes. ‘TI only desire to be the most 
At these words 


he put his hand to his breast, covered with the 


faithful servant of his majesty.” 


insignia of his state uniform, which he had not 
taken off since the morning’s ceremony. — 

“ Indeed, in no country in the world do we find 
so much fidelity and devotion to the reigning 
royal family, as in Prussia,” said Mirabeau, en- 
thusiastically. ‘I must devote a separate chap- 
ter to this in my great work on the Prussian 
monarchy, at which I am now busy.” 

“JT have heard much that is commendable 
about your preparatory studies,” said Bischoffs- 
“ Is 


this little pamphlet an essay belonging to that 


-werder, in an extremely friendly manner. 


work ?” 

The count endeavored to fathom the meaning 
of this question; but the general appeared per- 
fectly tranquil and ingenuous. Mirabeau remem- 
bered having heard that questions of this descrip- 
tion were usual with his excellency, who preferred 
to pretend ignorance, narrow-mindedness, and, to 
a certain extent, simplicity. 

“Oh,” replied the count, “the treatise on Cag- 
liostro has no connection with Prussia. I do not 
know whether there are any Prussians like him, 
although it may be supposed that such impostors 
will occasionally appear in every part of the 
world. Wherever spirits are really revealed, 
necromancers are the order of the day. Caglios- 
tro has certainly attained eminence in his art; he 
calls up for us spirits from all centuries ; he has 
already made appear Semiramis, Marcus Aurelius, 
Henry IV., and many other potentates. The 
only spirits he has not succeeded in evoking are 
the German philosopher Leibnitz and the great 
Elector of Brandenburg.” * 





* At a spiritual meeting, which Bischoffswerder and 
Wollner sla for the crown-prince Frederick Wil- 





161 


Bischoffswerder writhed for a moment, but soon 
looked as indifferent as ever, saying, while he clasped 
his hands more firmly: “ All depends on this: 
whether we have the right faith. To him that 
believes, nothing is impossible; but he who de- 
sires miracles with a wicked heart, pronounces 
his own judgment. I am certain, count, that you 
do not speak about Cagliostro in any other sense ; 
and what is your opinion of Deacon Lavater? 
Do you consider him a true Christian?” 

“T consider him a rival of the Italian,” replied 
Miribeau, quickly. ‘ Lavater would gladly have 
been a Cagliostro, for whom in his writings he 
expresses great esteem, and whom he defends 
against all accusation. But the deacon, whatever 
powers he may possess, would have made a much 
greater figure, if he had determined to become a 
mountebank on a large scale. However, his Ger- 
man honesty interferes with such enterprises, and 
he is nothing but a puling religionist, where he 
could have been a knight and a magichero. I 
believe that he deceives himself much more than 
he does others, when he essays to perform mir. 
acles. Lavater has often said what your excel- 
lency remarked just now, ‘ Nothing is impossible 
to a believer ;’ but as he had very poor success, I 
think my answer to your question must be, that 
he cannot be a good Christian.” * 

“Oh, Iam delighted that we agree on that 
point, count,” exclaimed the general, with almost 
a tender expression, as if he expected that this 
was only the beginning of a good understanding 
between him and his visitor. ‘ Lavater is just as 
you say he is, chiefly because he is not a Prus- 
sian. It is necessary to belong to that nation, 
and especially as one of its soldiers, to be a Chris- 
tian in the truest sense of the word, for only in 
the service of his majesty the king can the pure 
gospel be confessed and practised.” 

“T was under the impression that your excel- 
lency is a Saxon by birtb,” said Mirabeau, bowing 


deeply. 





liam, they introduced the pretended spirits of Leibnitz 
and the elector. 

* Mirabeau, ‘‘Lettre sur Cagliostro et Lavater” 
(Guvres, vol. iv., p. 498). 


162 


“A Saxon may become a Prussian, as a Saul 
became a Paul, and do you not think that Saul 
was a real Paul?” replied the general, enthusias- 
tically. “If I am not an Old Prussian, I place 
my merit on the fact that Heaven has deigned to 
make a New Prussian of me.” . 

“Lavater may fail in other things, but he is a 
good Jesuit, as all conjurers and spirit-callers are, , 
in the present day, by whatever name they go,” 
said the count. “Your excellency can, however, 
instruct me on one point. I have made the as- 
sertion in the treatise now lying on your table, 
that Lavater was a pupil of Schrepfer, and my 
visit to-day is partly for the purpose of receiving 
authentic confirmation about this from your own 
lips.” 

Bischoffswerder hesitated a moment before he 
replied; then he said, as innocently as possible: 
““Why do you suppose that I can give any in- 
formation as to the relation existing between La- 
vater and Schrepfer ?”’ 

“ Because the latter lived in Saxony, where he 
is said to have succeeded in forming a union be- 
tween the Rosicrucians and freemasons,” said 
“It is possible that, 
during your youth, your excellency may have 


Mirabeau, ingenuously. 


frequented the coffee-house which George Schrep- 
fer kept in Leipsic. Every man sometimes takes 
coffee in a public saloon, and even converses 
with people with whom he elsewhere does not 
associate; although I never would believe that 
your excellency belonged to the pupils of Schrep- 
fer, as several journals and magazines have af- 
firmed.” 

“*T saw him several times in Leipsic,” replied 
Bischoffswerder, thoughtfully. 
in him because he had been a Prussian hussar, 
and fought in the Seven Years’ War—that is the 
only reason why I visited his café, for even as a 


“T was interested 


young man I was enthusiastic in every thing hav- 
ing the slightest connection with Prussia.” 

“His coffee was rumored to have been weaker 
than his apparatus for the citation of spirits,” 
said the count. ‘For he became bankrupt as a 
coffee-house keeper, while his credit in the spirit 


kingdom was unlimited, for the dead were ever 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


ready to do his bidding. He is said, not only to 
have used concave mirrors, but to have invented 
frames covered with crape, in which all from the 
shadowy world were permitted to hide them- 
selves. The nobleman, who inherited this appa- 
ratus, is doing a much better business, and will 
probably not commit suicide on account of his 
debts, as poor Schrepfer did, in the Rosenthal, 
near Leipsic.”’ 

Mirabeau was astonished to find that even his 
last intimation about the nobleman (Bischoffs- 
werder), which he knew was quite impudent, had 
not the slightest effect on the general. The latter 
maintained his attitude in a masterly manner, not 
considering any thing the count chose to touch 
upon as being in any sense personal, but at times 
he looked with visible anxiety at a clock on the 
marble mantel-piece. 

“ And when will your work on the Prussian 
monarchy appear, count?” asked Bischoffswer- 
der, turning the conversation in an indifferent 
voice. 

“Jt requires still much labor,” replied Mira- 
beau. ‘I have entered into communication with 
a Brunswick .major, M. de Mauvillon, who will 
assist me in editing it. I made the acquaintance 
of this man (who is every way competent) at the 
court of Brunswick, where I have lately spent 
some time. But much is yet wanting for which I 
would wish to beg the favor of your excellency. 
Perhaps you may by your influence remove the 
difficulties which prevent me from using the royal 
state archives.” 

_ “Do you intend to write your book in a style 
similar to that in which you wrote the memorial 
you sent to his majesty several days ago?” asked 
the general, in a more austere tone. 

“ Ah, your excellency has read the latter?” re- 
plied the count, with flashing eyes. 

‘Tt was sent to me by the king with the gra- 
cious intimafion to make a report of it,” said the 
general. “But as I am now enjoying the priv- 
ilege of personal intercourse with you, count, I 
may permit myself a few questions for my better 
information. What do you understand by the 
national guard that you recommend to Prussia, 


AN AUDIENCE WITH M. VON BISCHOFFSWERDER. 


and by which you pretend to remove the faults in 
our present recruiting-system ?” 

‘““ What do I understand by it?” repeated Mir- 

abeau, surprised. ‘I mean by it to abolish the 
military slavery that depopulates and impov- 
erishes your kingdom, and replace it by a na- 
tional organization having some show of liberty. 
Is it necessary, that a people engaged in war 
must be driven like a herd of cattle to the 
slaughter? It is much easier to arrange the 
service in such a way that it may appear as an 
affair of honor and zeal, and thus you would gain 
‘strength for the safety of the state. Begin by 
encouraging your peasants to form companies ip 
their parishes, and to practise the use of arms; 
let them nominate by vote who are to enlist, and 
let this be considered a distinction. Thus you 
will commence at the foundation of a system on 
which all else in the state may rely.” * 
_ “That would not be considered national in 
Prussia,” replied Bischoffswerder, with quiet dig- 
nity. “Here we call measures by that name only 
when they come immediately from the king, and 
are executed by express command. Whoever is 
recruited by his majesty is considered a soldier. 
The idea of freely-chosen companies can never 
be permitted in this state; we do not manage our 
affairs in so experimental a manner.” 

“How!” exclaimed Mirabeau; “can any thing 
be conducted in a more dignified and safe manner 
than in an association where one acts for all, and 
all for one? On the contrary, sir, a decision by 
one person in the state, without the concurrence 
of all, is experimental. Allow me for a moment 
to call your attention to France. Ido not know 
who he was that once said, ‘The fairest king- 
It is 
true, but, for some time, it has been visited with 


dom, next to the heavenly, is France!’ 


disorder and suffering. Financial embarrassments 
(and they express political neglect) become great- 
er day by day; nothing can save us; but an as- 
sembly freely taking counsel and deciding on the 
‘state of affairs. This is my opinion and that of 
my friends; we have endeavored to promulgate 





* “ Lettre A Frédéric Guillaume IL.” (Berlin, 1787), p.24. 





163 


If the authorities still demur to call 
an assembly from the General Estates of the 
country, then a meeting of the notables will be 


it in Paris. 


necessary, consisting of privileged persons, but 
I have lately 
addressed the most urgent representations to the 


yet having a free national basis. 


French ministry on this point, and, as I was one 
of the principal originators of the idea, I have 
worked out the plan in detail, and sent it to M. 
de Calonne.” 

“T thank you, count, for your interesting in- 
formation,” said M. von Bischoffswerder, slightly 
bowing. “It is decisive as to our relations. We 
are Germans, and do not intend to concede any 
more to French customs. He who endeavors to 
effect a closer alliance between these two coun- 
tries, is only thrashing straw. Prussia must be- 
come more German than it has ever been, and 
our present King Frederick William II. will be a 
German monarch. The affectation for France is 
at an end, and his majesty assumes an indepen- 
dent role. He would only become a very paltry 
imitator of the irreligious Frederick if, instead of 
being German and national, he were French and 
God forbid!” 


“Is it possible,” exclaimed the count, in aston- 


foreign. 


ishment, “that the memory of the great king, 
whose eyes have scarcely closed, already ceases 
to have influence for the state and its future? 
The works of a second-rate artist often outlive 
him ; and shall Prussia show nothing of the mind 
of Frederick the Great? Really, that is sad! 
But many things have lately surprised me among 
the people. Much indifference and even dislike 
of the great monarch seem to be the order of the: 
day, and, before his tomb is closed, the voice of © 
his enemies is heard.” 

“Do not abuse those who would give honor to- 
“ There 
is nothing higher than our revealed religion, and 


God,” said Bischoffswerder, solemnly. 


only in it can exist either king or servant. He 
that reigns without the pale of that faith does 
not really reign, and his subjects turn to him who 
will keep them in the faith, that they may not 
stumble, but stand firm under Christian officers. 
King Frederick is dead; but we shall destroy his 


164 


evil example, for we mean to live under a pious 
government.” ; 

‘‘Then my memorial must have received your 
excellency’s disapprobation in a religious point 
of view,” said Mirabeau to the general, whose 
lips were moving as if in silent prayer. 

“You are a friend of the Jews!” replied Bis- 
choffswerder, with a pitying shrug of his shoul- 
der. “TI have unfortunately discovered that your 
religion consists in mere toleration; you demand 
it to a greater extent than it existed even under 
the late king, and you wish us to publish an edict 
On what 


grounds can you justify an act that would open 


granting the Jews all civil rights. 


the gates of a Christian state to the arch-enemies 
of our faith?” 

“T have no other justification than what I have 
already expatiated upon in my memorial,” said 
“The 
state would gain good and useful citizens ; its 


Mirabeau, with a very expressive smile. 
population and capital would increase. I conjure 
you, general, use all your influence with the king 
that universal toleration may exist in his realm, 
for only on such a foundation, liberty, opulence, 
and happiness, can be expected for the government 
May Frederick William IT. dis- 
arm the prejudicial reports spread about him, that 


and for society! 


he has become a member of the sect of the Rosi- 
crucians, and the agent of those merciless necro- 
mancers !”’ * 

“ Count Mirabeau,” replied the general, scarcely 
able to maintain his dignity, “his majesty has no 
doubt well weighed the principles by which he 
will govern, for he is a God-fearing man, anxious 
for the happiness of his subjects, but in his truly 
Christian mind no room can be found for what is 
called liberality; it has the same signification as 
usury. He who desires religious liberty trades 
away his soul’s eternal happiness for the miser- 
He who 
desires a blessed future life, must be intolerant, 


able market-price of a present delusion. 


for to permit infidelity and wickedness, is in it- 
self wrong. Truth in its essence and power is 
illiberal and exclusive. It would be like receiv- 





* Mirabeau, “‘Lettre & Frédéric Guillaume IL,” 
Pp. 52. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. . 


ing earnest-money from the Jews for the purpose 
of buying our Christian state. I thought the 
Counts de Mirabeau were an old aristocratic fam- 
ily? Can a nobleman of ancient descent defend 
Jews?” 

“Oh,” replied the count, laughing aloud, “a 
man of ancient and noble descent can do much 
more than that—he can fight against himself. I 
have learned this in France and cannot forget it 
in Prussia, True aristocracy in these days, is to 
sacrifice all privileges and prejudices for the ben- 
efit of all, returning to the people what belongs 
to them. In my reforms, I ventured to suggest 
that the land-tax should be raised, but that not a 
single estate should be exempt.” 

“T noticed that,” said Bischoffswerder. ‘“ But 
the Prussian nobility would not suffer the state to. 
They honor the 
government by paying nothing. You wish to be 


put its hand into their pockets. 


tolerant in reference to God, and intolerant in 
reference to the aristocracy. Sir, the cause of the 
Gospel and that of freedom from taxation of the 
estates of the nobles, are the same thing. One 
must stand or fall with the other, for from the 
privileged classes a blessing flows through the 
whole land, improving all. I have observed this 
particularly as to my friend Wéllner, who is now 
privy councillor of finance and intendant of the 
royal buildings ; for what would he ever have be- 
come if he had not married the daughter of a no- 
Only through 
his union with the nobility, by means of such 


bleman possessing a free estate? 


a family as the Itzenplitze of Gros-Behnitz, could 
he receive that consecration which made the poor 
country-preacher a companion of his majesty. 
This is an example, sir, of how a Prussian may 
elevate himself. Every thing else we refuse to 
accept.” 

“T must be satisfied with your decision,” re- 
plied Mirabeau, impatiently springing from his 
seat, and preparing to take leave of the general. 
While the latter was slowly rising, the count con- 
tinued: “A state may fail in its destiny as well 
as a human being. It happens sometimes that 
we fancy a country is becoming powerful, but 
when we take a nearer view, we perceive that its 


AN AUDIENCE WITH M. VON BISCHOFFSWERDER. 


rottenness commences before maturity.* May 
the statesmen of Prussia remember that it is des- 
tined to become great!” 

“Tt need not,” replied M. von Bischoffswerder, 
raising his corpulent body with some exertion. 
“Tt shall be great before the Lord, that is true; 
but it requires no increase of power, and it will 
be happiest and mightiest if it possesses nothing 
but the sheepcotes of Brandenburg. Farewell, 
count!” 





* **Pourriture avant maturité,”’ the celebrated say- 
ing of Mirabeau in reference to Prussia. 





165 


With these words, Mirabeau was dismissed. 
In the greatest haste he passed through the ante- 
rooms and down the staircase, to reach his car- 
riage awaiting him in the inner court-yard of the 
royal palace. He did not take breath until seated 
Half laughing and half angry he threw 
himself back on the cushions, whispering: “‘ The 
only fool in this business am I! Who else would 
have undertaken to dispute with a Bischoffswer- 
der unless such an enthusiast as myself? I con- 
tinually return to my labor of washing the negro 
white.” 


in it. 


THE YEAR 1789. 





CHAPTER XXVI. 
MIRABEAU’S CLOTH-STORE. 


On a cold February day in 1789, Mirabeau 
emerged in great haste and excitement from a 
house on the market-square, in the old Provence 
town of Aix. He did not throw his cloak over 
his shoulders until he was in the street and felt 
the cold, reminding him that his health might 
suffer if not more careful, but his face was in a 
glow, and anger swelling the veins in his fore- 
head. 

“Why, my dear brother, is the session of the 
aristocracy over?” asked a lady, against whom 
the count almost stumbled ‘in passing, and who 
now retained him by grasping his cloak. He rec- 
ognized his sister, Madame de Saillant. She re- 
sided in Aix, and he had renewed the tender in- 
timacy of their youth since his stay in the little 
town. 

“The assembly has not adjourned, but I have 
finished forever with this fine aristocracy of 
Provence,” Mirabeau replied, with a tragi-comic 
expression. “You must know, my dear sister, 
that the nobility and clergy have as good as turned 
me out; and you can now see how one looks who 
has been trying to maintain a proud appearance, 
(in whith I hope I was successful). The reaction 
must be visible and awkward enough, so that I 
really must present a rather sheepish appear- 
ance.” 





“Tt could not be otherwise,” said Madame de 
Saillant, in a cheerful tone; she was one who 
could not easily be saddened, and always had a. 
“ T admired 


the courage with which you came to this place, to 


consoling influence on her brother. 


enter an assembly who are your natural oppo- 
nents, and against whom you have been acting 
your whole life. And now you have really suc- 
ceeded in being turned out ?—But it is cold, Ga- 
briel. Accompany me’ home and tell me all the 
proceedings over a cup of chocolate.” 

“No, my dear Caroline, I thank you,” replied 
Mirabeau. 
and clergy has no time to drink chocolate—he 


“A man expelled by the aristocracy 


must think of vengeance. I have a great deal on 
my hands to-day. But let me inform you of one 
fact: it was my former father-in-law, Marquis de 
He 


arose and said that there was a rule which pro- 


Marignane, who demanded my expulsion. 


hibited Count Mirabeau from a seat in the assem: 
bly, for they had lately declared that no one was 
entitled to participate in their proceedings who 
was not in possession of an estate in fee. This 
was a preconcerted affair; all they desired was to 
destroy my opposition by removing me, and, of 
course, the motion prevailed, so I had but one 
thing to do— take my hat and leave. 
arrived safe outside, and I despise and defy those 
gentlemen. They have anticipated a dangerous 
state of affairs for themselves, for as soon as I re- 
nounce the idea of being nominated a deputy from 
my own rank in the Assembly of Estates, I be- 


I have 


MIRABEAU’S 


long exclusively to the people and the Third Es- 
tate, and am certain of being elected by acclama- 
tion in Paris as their representative at the great 
session soon to be held!” 

‘“‘ And why did you not resolve to do so at first, 
Gabriel ?”? asked Madame de Saillant, glancing 
sympathizingly at the agitated countenance of her 
brother. 
disagreeable feelings in this paltry old place, full 


“‘ You would have spared yourselfmany 


of prejudices against you. And I would have been 
saved much pain; for you know that from love to 
you as well as to Emilie de Marignane, I have been 
continually laboring for your reunion with her. 
She loves you still—her whole life is nothing but 
anxiety and sorrow for you ; and since your arrival 
here in Aix, she sits at her castle, dreaming of you 
with pale cheeks and weeping eyes. When you 
came, my heart was filled with hopes for the real- 
ization of my plans, but now all is disarranged, 
and you are farther apart than before. You have 
again violently aroused the displeasure of her 
father in the session of the Provence aristocracy. 
He was the real cause of your divorce from Emilie, 
when you wished to be reunited with her; and 
now, when he might have been won to your in- 
terests, this new apple of discord—the election— 
has been thrown in, and I fear all my efforts for 
your happiness are in vain.” 

“You were always an amiable dreamer, Caro- 
line,” replied Mirabeau, caressing his sister’s 
hand, 
less use than ever of your kindness in this affair. 


“And yet you know that I can now make 


The time has come for men to act, renounce, 
fight, and sacrifice themselves; who can now 
think of courtships and marriage, of old or ‘new 
wives? I assure you, when I resolved to come to 
Aix, I never even remembered that Castle Mari- 
gnane was within half a league’s distance. I merely 
followed the invitation of the state recorders, call- 
ing on all property-holders to assemble, and I con- 
sidered myself included on account of our family 
property in Provence. The question is about the 
elections of the Estates of the kingdom, with which 
Louis XVI. is endeavoring to sustain himself after 
he was forced to cast away that broken reed—the 
assembly of notables,” 


CLOTH-STORE. 167 






“Tf you had rema ned united with Emilie, you 
would have been a ndpd proprietor in Provence, y 
Spay os oy 
have happened,” said Ma iant,-sigh- 
ing. “Iam certain that my dear friend Emilie 
will be in despair when she hears of it.” 


and the unpleasant 


“Such proprietors have always intervened be- 
tween her and me,” replied Mirabeau. “And as 
to the session from which I have been expelled, I 
am glad that now I can shake the aristocracy from 
I acknowledge that, for a short 
time, I thought it best to become a deputy from 
the Estate of the Nobility, always thinking they 
ought to be the leaders of the people in a struggle 


my shoulders. 


for liberty; for, strongly as I love the Commons 
and their cause, I find much that is repulsive to 
me in them; I have often been vexed at their fol- 
lies. They are altogether without plans, without 
enlightenment, sometimes irritated at small mat- 
ters, where they are wrong; and yielding good- 
naturedly to great ones, where they are right. But 
the last quarter of an hour has completely changed 
my ideas,” 

While they were talking the snow began to fall. 
Mirabeau had ordered his carriage at the usual 
time—the close of the session—but as he had left 
earlier, could not expect it ; he therefore proposed 
to his sister that they should enter a cloth-storc, 
with the proprietor of which the count had lately 
become acquainted. Madame de Saillant hesi- 
tated at first, but finally consented to take shelter 
there until some conveyance could be procured. 

“‘ The noble Marchioness de Saillant is induced 
a has democratic brother to mix with low so- 
ciety, and accompanies him into a vulgar store to 
seek protection from the storm!” said Mirabeau, 
laughing, as he gave her his arm. “But you 
were always a friend of the people, Caroline. 
Even while we were together at our father’s house, 
sympathy united me with your hopeful and great 
mind. I believe you always loved me, wherever 
I may have been, and however I may have been 
buffeted by fortune. 
in very dark hours to your letters and advice, 


I owe many a consolation 


May I not reckon on you in future, now that I am 





plunging into a doubtful conflict for the people ?” 


168 


Caroline pressed her brother’s hand tenderly, 
as they entered the store, near the door of which 
they could no longer remain, on account of the 
The owner, M. Le Tellier, 
was dining with his family in a small adjoining 


inclement weather. 


room, and had not yet noticed the strangers. The 
count did not wish to disturb him at his noonday 
repast, although they had often already conversed 
about the elections. ‘ 

As they loitered in the store, Madame de Sail- 
lant again began to converse on the subject so 
near her heart. She related the profound mental 
sufferings of her friend Emilie, who, since her di- 
vorce from the count, enjoyed nothing in life but 
hearing-of Mirabeau and his affairs, often driving 
from Castle Marignane to Caroline’s house, to 
talk about the absent one and see his letters, 
kissing and weeping over them. Emilie would 
certainly come this evening between six and seven 
o’clock, and his sister gently hinted that a visit 
from him at the same time would be what she 
most desired. 

“No, my dear Caroline,” replied Mirabeau, 
gravely, “let us sayno more on that matter. We 
have been separated, and can never be reunited. 
Six years ago I would have given every thing if 
Emilie de Marignane had inclined her heart 
toward me, pardoning and receiving me again, 
after my father’s lettres de cachet tore us asunder. 
I desired to atone to her for many a wrong I had 
done her; but her father the marquis, and all 
her wealthy relatives, obtained influence over her 
and she declared herself my enemy. Since then 
my memory of her has faded away, and who can 
restore it? It is strange that, at this decisive 
moment of my life, she is again to be forced upon 
me. Does she wish to entice me from the 
glorious career before me by the bribe of her 
landed property? No, I pay homage to no such 
feudal love. Let her weep for me, for I am truly 
lost to her! The people have my affections, 
with whom I am about to be united in an endur- 
ing bond ; for I will be a candidate for the rep- 
resentation of the Third Estate.” 

“ Could such a connection as that with a cer- 
tain Madame de Nehra really be strong enough 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


to turn your heart from a woman like Emilie, 
who possesses beauty, amiability, intellect, rank, 
and wealth?” asked Madame de Saillant. ‘“ My 
dear brother, I do not know that lady—I have 
never seen her, and all the flattering things you 
have told me of her in your letters may be true; 
but persons in her position can always be set 
aside—she is neither more nor less than a sort of 
grisette, while a union with one of your own rank 
insures the happiness both of husband and wife.” 

“No, my learned sister,” replied Mirabeau, 
quickly, “you are altogether mistaken. You 
have thought much at your life—you have been 
educated at your convent in philosophy, and can 
even understand Latin; * you may know some- 
thing of sentiment, and have had an affection for 
your deceased husband, but you never understood 
so profound and honorable a love as mine for 
Madame de Nehra. 
myself—nay, she is my better genius. 


She is an inseparable part of 
She not 
only loves, but serves me—not only serves, but 
controls me. She is my dearest friend, if I may 
Say so, for together we fight our way through 
the world—my agent, for she attends to all my 
business affairs—my messenger, to do my bidding 
with cheerfulness and fidelity. She crossed the 
sea from London to Paris alone, and in feeble 
health, to have the cabinet order repealed that 
placed me at the disposition of my father, and | 
succeeded. Two years ago I returned from Ber- 
lin, and was forced to leave this faithful friend in 
the Prussian capital, because she was suffering 
from illness: but I knew that I would be unfor- 
tunate in all my undertakings without her pro- 
tecting presence. 

“T felt that my political position at Berlin was 
becoming unworthy of me, and fancied that I 
should receive, as a reward for past service, some 
situation under the French government. I 
thought I could make pretensions to the secretary- 
ship of the convention of notables, soon to open 
its sessions, but I was repulsed, for the ministry 
never intended to do me justice. The assembly 
were not strong or courageous enough to arrest 





* Montigny, ‘‘ Mémoires,” vol. i., p. 270. 


MIRABEAU’S CLOTH-STORE, 


the ruin of the country, and Calonne lost his port- 
folio, having to run away from his creditors. 
The new financial minister was a prelate, the 
Archbishop of Toulouse, M. Loménie de Brienne, 
a man who had some predilection for the phil- 
osophic fancies of the age, but could make no 
money either out of them or his half-forgotten 
psalms. Then I published my pamphlet against 
stock-gambling—tearing the mask from hypoc- 
risy.* I intended thereby to close all avenues 
to a reéntrance of M. Necker into the ministry 
by turning public opinion against him, but I ex- 
pressed myself too strongly, and the government 
issued another lettre de cachet-—the seventeenth 
in the course of my life. 

“T was obliged to flee and hide at Tongres. 
And who became my savior? It was Henriette. 
On receiving the news, she immediately left her 
sick-bed, declaring herself perfectly well, and of- 

fered me her services. She hastened from Tongres 
to Paris; again implored M. de Breteuil for my 
liberty ; went to every one whose friendship and 
influence she thought might be of avail, and did 
not desist until, by her entreaties and her charm- 
ing address, she gained her object, and I was re- 
leased from exile! At this moment she is un- 
weariedly occupied with my affairs at the capital, 
while I, endeavoring to make the Provence fe 
tocracy democratic, am expelled from their hall.” 

The proprietor of the cloth-store entéred te 
; greet Count Mirabeau, whose voice he had heard. 
He was a short, active man, with the dark, 
shrewd eyes of the Provengal, but his outward 
appearance gave signs of poverty. 

“T am afraid that we have disturbed you at 
your dinner, Master Le Tellier,” said the count, 
returning the man’s respectful bow in a very 
friendly manner. “We are claiming the hospi- 
tality of your store until the snow-storm has 
passed,” 

“ As to dinner, I cannot say much either of its 
quantity or quality in my house,” replied Le 
“With five children and no in- 
come, I might assume the name Monsieur Deficit, 


Tellier, sadly, 





dh Dénenciations de pment au Roi et aux No- 
tables.” 





169 


as they are at present calling Marie Antoinette 
Madame Deficit.” 

“The Parisians are witty in their misery,” said 
Mirabeau, laughing, “but they are at least trying 
to bake new bread, and we shall soon have a new 
boulangerie francaise, with the sign of the Estates 
of the kingdom. You must be well represented 
there, you gentlemen of the Third Estate; for if 
we succeed in our present undertaking no one 
shall suffer hunger in France, even if he has twice 
the number of children you have, friend Deficit.” 

“Our hopes rest on you, count,” replied the 
proprietor of the store. ‘And we were really 
sorry to see you associate with the nobility and 
clergy, as the intentions of those gentlemen are 
obvious. They wish during the elections to de- 
prive us of our rights, by not permitting us to be 
fully represented. You belong to the aristocracy, 
it is true, but you have a reputation of being a 
friend of the people, and of having a heart not 
quite as tough as the parchment demonstrating 
your ancient descent.” 

“No, that you and your friends may be sure 
of,” exclaimed the count, solemnly. “I was 
present at the meetings held in the hall yonder, 
just because I intended to combat for the rights 
of the Commons against a clique. For what is 
the object of those men? They wish to over- 
throw the decrees of the king, who has ordained 
that the Third Estate must be represented by a 
proportionate number of delegates, as the other 
Estates. I stepped into their midst to let them 
hear a free and true word from one of their own 
rank ; but it is easier to preach to the deaf than 
to the obstinately wicked. When J found I could 
not reach them through considerations of justice 
and prudence, I endeavored to frighten them. 
But they care only for their own rank, and would 
absolutely protest against going to heaven if they 
thought that they could not carry their aristocrat- 
ic privileges with them, They are taking meas- 
ures for a solemn protestation against the king’s 
popular order; and, that they might not be dis- 
turbed, they simply showed me the door—that 
explains my presence here, Master Le Tellier. 
Since I have been expelled from my own rank, I 


170 


must look for something to do. I envy you your 
business ; it must be agreeable—you know what 
you live for, and see the results before you. Will 
you take me as a partner in your store?” 

“That would be an expensive movement, 
count,” replied Le Tellier. 
capital, if you expect profit. 


“You must use 

You doubtless 
observe how meagre my trade must be; the 
stock is small, and I do not pretend to deal in 
the fine or more costly cloths. Alas! my sales 
are insignificant. Our country about hére is im- 
poverished; we have no means to make new 
purchases.” 

“‘T enter as partner from to-day,” said Mira- 
beau, gravely offering his hand to Le Tellier. 
“As to the amount of money I am to bring in, 
we can settle that hereafter ; I will pay one thou- 
sand francs down for improvements in the ap- 
pearance of the store; it ought to look a little 
better. It will soon be a time of remodelling 
everywhere; all the old rubbish will be cleared 
out of the way, the signs newly painted, and 
every thing put in order. Let us have a new 
firm, my friend. But, first, take your money.” 

Mirabeau at once drew out his pocket-book, and 
looked for something, but, not finding it, he was 
embarrassed, and began to reflect. Madame de 
Saillant smilingly noticed this, and, without wait- 
ing to be asked, which she expected, as a matter 
He 
quietly took it, and counted out in gold-pieces the 


of course handed her purse to her brother. 


sum mentioned to Le Tellier, who was regarding 
him doubtingly : “Our new firm,” he said, “ shall 
be ‘Count Mirabeau and Le Tellier.’ While 
waiting for the new sign, we shall put up a tem- 
porary one, and it must be done promptly. Have 
you not a black board, or something of that kind, 
on which we can write the letters with chalk ? ” 
Le Tellier seemed to comprehend what was re- 
quired, and joyfully hastened to bring the ne- 
The count, taking the chalk, 
wrote in large characters; “In this store Count 


cessary articles. 


Mirabeau sells cloth, for the purpose of newly ap- 
parelling all the Estates.” Then he said: “We 
must fasten this on a post outside, so that all 
that pass by may see it.” 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


Le Tellier was delighted at this idea, and moved 
about with more than his usual activity. In a 
few minutes the notice was conspicuously before 
the public. 

“That is excellent, count,” the cloth-merchant 
repeated. ‘“‘When the noble lords and barons 
come from the hall, they can hardly pass without 
observing the new sign, and it will afford us some 
amusement to witness their surprise and fear. 
—They will understand the meaning of being 
newly clothed by Count Mirabeau. The jacket 
you will make for them will be a tight fit, and 
not unlike that for the people, count? ” 

“You are an intelligent partner,” said Mira- 
beau, patting the man’s shoulder. “Your com- 
prehension is quick, and we shall no doubt do a 
good business. Certainly we must make a simi- 
lar style of dress for all the Estates, and from 
the same cloth. At first, the material will be 
coarse, for we have nothing very superior. So 
much the better, for the higher classes should 
learn to wear jackets of coarse stuff. If we suc- 
ceed, we shall have better goods after a while, so 
that the people may have what is fine and costly. 
What do you think of it, friend?” 

The marchioness now remarked to her brother 
that it was time to depart, for she did not feel 
very comfortable during the conversation, and the 
The 
count, on leaving, said to Le Tellier: “ Announce 


snow-storm was over and the sky clear. 


to your friends (and I know you have a great 
many in the coffee-houses and club-rooms of Aix), 
that I have entered into a partnership with you. 
If any one desires to trade with us he shall have 
a reduction of twenty per cent. on his purchases. 
The time is at hand when the most profitable 
business will be to belong to the people mn) 

Tell your friends also that I shall attend 
at my store every morning from twelve to two 


selves. 


o’clock, and that whoever appears at that time — 
On lead- 
ing his sister into the street, Mirabeau saw that 


can ask me any question he pleases.”, 


several persons had already noticed the sign, and 
were reading it with the greatest surprise.” 

“Tet us amuse ourselves a little with these 
faces,” said the count, in a low voice to Madame 


BREAD AND MEAT. 


de Saillant, retiring again into the store. ‘They 
are my former colleagues from the session-house, 
The meeting has adjourned, and most of those 
standing there feel.as if they had been poisoned 
by my business notice, They are endeavoring to 
laugh, but you can see that they feel badly. The 
noble gentlemen have doubtlessly passed a pro- 
test against the magnanimous order of the king 
in reference to the number of deputies, and walk 
proudly as they think of their ancient privileges. 
There is my worthy father-in-law, Marquis de 
Marignane! As he was entering his equipage he 
saw many persons around the cloth-store, and he 
‘is really condescending to mingle with them, fol- 
lowed by the Archbishop of Aix, M. de Boisgelin, 
who is putting on his spectacles.” 

Mirabeau’s carriage now arrived, at the time 
the assembly usually adjourned, He beckoned to 
the coachman. to drive up to the store. “It is 
_ timesto go,” said the count, escorting his sister 
out, and through the group at the door. Madame 
de Saillant blushed deeply, feeling greatly embar- 
rassed at meeting so many of her intimate friends 
- while in such a strange position. 

M. de Marignane and the archbishop were still 
standing in animated conversation, and when 
they beheld Mirabeau and his sister their aston- 
ishment was so great as to embarrass them in 
saluting the marchioness. 
his haughtiest manner, ds if utterly unconscious 
of their presence.* 





* The story of Mirabeau’s store has been contested, 
but it has probably as much of historical truth as is 
accorded in this description. Chateaubriand’s ‘‘ Mé- 
moires d’outre Tombe,” vol. ii., p. 33; ‘* Mémoires de 
Condorcet,” vol. ii., p. 818; and the ‘ Anecdotes du 
Régne de Louis XVI.,” vol. vi., p. 267, give particulars 
of this cloth business, in which Mirabeau sold goods to 
the amount of three hundred louis d’ors daily, and on 
the first day to that of even fifteen thousand francs. 
Montigny and others have vainly endeavored to dis- 
credit this curious episode in Mirabeau’s life, 


The count passed in | 





171 


CHAPTER XXVII. 
BREAD AND MEAT. 


Miraseav was seated at the table d'héte of the 
hotel in which he had taken up his residence at 
Aix. From the time of his arrival the number 
of visitors had so increased that the proprietor 
found it necessary to open several apartments ad- 
joining the public dining-saloon, to make room for 
those attracted there by the presence of so cele- 
brated a character. Outside, as usual about that 
hour of the day, a crowd had assembled, awaiting 
the appearance of the count, who never omitted 
to make some remark as he passed out, and even 
sometimes addressed them. He had become the 
popular favorite, not only in Aix, but in the 
neighboring towns of Provence, especially in 
He had 
risen in the love and esteem of the middle and 


Marseilles, where he often spent a day. 


lower classes, while becoming more and more 
openly the opponent of those of higher rank, and 
an object of hatred and persecution. The people 
came to him for advice and consolation in all 
their troubles, and he was present not only at the 
meetings of the citizens where debates about the 
elections were held, but he visited the poor, asso- 
ciating with them as both an equal and a_bene- 
factor. 

Rumors were rife among the guests at the table 
@héte of a rising of the populace at Marseilles, 
caused by hunger, for the most necessary articles 
were sold at fabulous prices; also of commotions 
in one of the quarters of Aix, inhabited by the 
poorest and most oppressed of the people; and 
many supposed that these disturbances had some 
connection. Mirabeau went out, having observed 
a few acquaintances who dwelt in that part of the 
town. He was received with shouts of “ Long 
live Count Mirabeau!” and was on the point of 
entering into conversation with several laborers 
who had long seemed suspicious to him, when an 
approaching travelling-carriage attracted his at- 
tention. It drove in great haste to the hotel, 
stopping in front of the principal door. The 
count heard his name called in a gentle and well- 


172 


known voice, and was greatly surprised to meet 
Madame de Nehra, stretching her arms toward 
him. He greeted her heartily, but with anxiety, 
knowing that her unexpected presence in Aix 
must be caused by something unfavorable to him, 
which she was trying to obviate. He conducted 
her to his rooms, while his friends and admirers 
in the street seemed somewhat surprised. 

“That beautiful woman is his wife, I suppose, 
who is running after him from Paris,” said a la- 
borer, slyly winking. ‘Let us serenade them to- 
night, Master Le Tellier.” 

“Tf you do not wind your silk more to the pur- 
pose than you make this supposition, you will 
soon be turned out of your factory,” replied Le 
Tellier, who had become of course a personage 
“ Count Mirabeau,” he add- 
ed, “has no wife, except the lady from whom he 
is divorced, and who dwells at Castle Marignane, 


of some importance, 


and we and all our friends must pay her a visit 
of ceremony.” 

“What do you mean, Master Le Tellier?” 
asked several, surrounding him with expectant 
faces. “Yes, you are right; the time will soon 
come when we must assault the proud castles in 
this vicinity, for there we can obtain better ward- 
robes than we buy in your store, though many of 
us have been provided for in that respect by the 
generosity of Count Mirabeau.” 

“Tf I ask you to make a pilgrimage to the old 
castle, friends,” exclaimed the cloth-merchant, 
smiling, “it will not be to storm it at present; 
we shall go to demand the appearance on the bal- 
If she 
favor us in our request, as she will have to do, 


cony of the fair Countess de Mirabeau. 


we will pronounce shame upon her for so shab- 
bily treating a man like her former husband, who 
is the benefactor of the people and the savior of 
France. She must kneel before us, and swear 
that she will so kneel to him for pardon, and re- 
turn all the property of which she deprived him. 
You shall have new clothing out of Mirabeau and 
Le Tellier’s store for this festival procession.” 
This proposal was received with shouts by the 
multitude, who disappeared in a side-street with 
their leader, the cloth-merchant. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


The count was greatly concerned to ascertain 
the object of Madame de Nehra’s journey, so sud- 
denly undertaken, and she was no less eager to 
inform him. ‘“ New intrigues are forming against 
you in Paris,” Henriette said. “ They are afraid 
of your conduct in Provence; the court and min- 
istry have received exaggerated accounts of you. I 
have heard from the best-informed persons that the 
government will do their utmost to prevent your 
election as one of the deputies from the Third 
Estate. 


has heard that your secret history of the court of 


Chamfort, who ferrets out every thing, 


Berlin is to be, or has already been used, as a crim- 
inal accusation against you; and then, as one 
condemned, you are ineligible in Provence. I 
thought it my duty to hasten to you, my friend, 
and inform you of this danger. If you do not 
care to have me stay, I will return to the capital, 
for I am quite strong again, and my lungs do not 
give me trouble. All you need is to tell me what 
Iam to do, for something must be done; but I 
did not venture to act without your consent.” 

Mirabeau paced the room with an. eye flaming 
in anger. “So these cowards intend to put me 
on trial,” he exclaimed, in a violent manner, “ and 
to answer for a book that in reality is not mine, 
but which the ministry had compiled by their 
agents without my knowledge or consent, partly 
out of the dispatches I sent to Vergennes and Ca- 
lonné from Berlin. Besides, those intriguers falsi- 
fied my reports, inserting passages against the 
present King of Prussia, which never originated 
with me, and are offensive to his majesty. I let 
these things pass at the time because they were 
indifferent to me, and I regarded the work as a 
worn-out coat that I never expected to see again. 
I ought to have known that it was intended to 
hurt me, and that they would use it against me 
whenever an occasion presented itself. But how 
did they begin this business? Tell me all you’ 
know.” 

“The state attorney formally denounced the 
book before the Parliament of Paris,” said Henri- 
ette, her honest eyes sparkling with indignation. 
“The accusation says that the rights of nations 
have been violated, and the honor of the French 


BREAD AND MEAT. 


nobility invaded, by one of their rank, inasmuch 
as the monarch of a friendly country has been in- 
sulted.” : 

“This is pure invention,” exelaimed Mirabeau, 
stamping; “and so it is fancied that I am to be 
caught in such a snare! I was sent to Berlin by 
order of Louis XVI., from whose purse I received 
my salary. Even if they said that King Frederick 
William II., or Prince Henry of Prussia, had en- 
tered complaints against me at the French court, 
I could prove to them the falsehood of such an 
assertion; for dur old friend Noldé is still in Ber- 
lin, and has access to the highest circles. He 
wrote me lately, that at the Prussian court my 
revelations were received with the utmost indif- 
ference. It is therefore French intrigue, without 
doubt the work of the Provencal aristocracy.” 

‘That may be,” replied Henriette, “ but I must 
also tell you, my dear friend, that Queen Marie 
_ Antoinette has especially shown her hostility to 
The Duke de Lauzun told me that she has 

made common cause with your enemies in Paris, 


you. 


to prevent your election. You are nicknamed the 
‘plebeian count’ at Versailles, and that is really too 
bad! Something must be done, and your friends 
wish to know in what light you regard the affair, 
so that we may act accordingly.” 

“ The gentlemen from Provence, it seems, knew 
how to obtain the queen’s countenance,” said 
Mirabeau. “For the honorable title of ‘ plebeian 
count’ I have merited. It is a good name, indi- 
cating my career. The report of my intercourse 
with the populace of Aix and Marseilles has al- 
ready reached the abode of royalty, and over- 
I do not see how 
The 


gentlemen of the mob are the gladiators of liberty, 


whelmed its inmates with fear. 
my present associations are any the worse. 


and if they are naked and dirty, freedom will clothe 
and wash them. And what harm have I done to 
Marie Antoinette ? 
her in my heart—that is all I have ever had to 


I have admired and pitied 


do witb that beautiful woman; and now she is at- 
tempting to preverit my election, while as member 
of the National Assembly I could be of great ser- 
vice to her!” 


“The best thing you can dois to go immediately 





173 


with me to Paris,” resumed Henriette, placing his 
hand to her heart. 
will solve all difficulties and turn them to good ac- 


“Believe me, your presence 


count ; for no one can easily resist your persuad- 
ing eyes.” 

“No, Yet-Lee, in politics nothing but evil eyes 
“T will return 
with you to the capital, but not to utter sweet 
words to my opponents ; the time for that is past, 
but I will rend the web they spin. I will denounce 


rule,” replied Mirabeau, smiling. 


the ministry to the whole of Europe as co-authors 
They 
may do what they like with the book itself—that 
is a matter of indifference to me—but they must 


of the work concerning the Prussian court. 


not associate my name and character with it.” 

“Then let us make arrangements for our de 
parture, for no time is to be lost.” said Henriette, 
quickly taking up her travelling-hat, which she 
had placed on the table at her entrance. 

“We cannot goin such a hurry,” he replied, 
“The 
fair Countess Yet-Lee is no doubt very tired, and 


looking at her, and pleased with her zeal. 
ought to rest. Besides, I must say farewell to 
my friends in this town, and promise them to re- 
turn at an appointed time, that they may not lose 
heart at my sudden disappearance.” 

“T am truly much fatigued,” replied Henriette, 
“but I wish you could make up your mind to 
I confess that I am 
not too well pleased with your stay in Aix ; in fact, 


come immediately with me. 


I have felt sad about it. If you would do me a favor, 
you would never return; you can be elected dep- 


uty in Paris as well as in Aix, for, if you will have 


nothing more to do with the aristocracy, you may 
reckon on the people everywhere.” 

“ And what displeases you about Aix, my Yet- 
Lee?” he asked, looking curiously at her. 

“The town may be good enough, but the 
Countess de Mirabeau lives here!” replied the 
blushing Henriette, in a low voice. ‘ During the 
night of your departure from Paris I dreamed 
that I lost you in the crowd, and when I saw you 
again, you were seated upon a golden throne, at 
the side of a beautiful woman, on whose bosom 
you leaned your head; and I, your poor wander- 
ing friend, could not approach you, for the proud 


174 


glances of the lady drove me away.” She ceased 
speaking, and tears streamed down her cheeks. 

“ Are you, too, concerned with a reunion of my- 
self and Emilie?” exclaimed Mirabeau, somewhat 
indignantly. ‘I am almost led to believe in the 
existence of unseen intelligences peopling the 
space above and around us, and who come very 
near our thoughts, without our knowing how and 
I came to Aix thinking of nothing 
but the elections, and since I have been here I 


wherefore ! 


have been annoyed in reference to a divorced 
wife. My sister harps on that string; some of 
my friends do the same; and now you come 
from Paris, chanting that ridiculous refrain. It 
is useless !—Let me explain your dream, Yet-Lee. 
That fair and proud lady on whom you saw me 
lean my head is Liberty, for she will soon as- 
cend her throne, elevating me and all her op- 
But I shall 


never forget my companion, my beloved friend. 


pressed sons to a sublime height. 


We are united forever, and the new era will only 
more firmly fasten our bonds. Do not cast 
me from your heart, for I shall need the blessing 
of your presence in the approaching day off an- 
archy and conflict.” 

Henriette kissed his hand with a grateful smile. 
Just then the valet de chambre entered, deliver- 
ing a letter sent by express from Count de Car- 
Mirabeau hastily broke the seal, and 
presently went to the window where Madame de 
Nehra had withdrawn, and communicated the 
contents. 


aman. 


“JT cannot go with you to Paris for several 
“This letter is from 


the commander of the province, now at Marseilles. 


days, Henriette,” he said. 


The outbreak among the people there is of a se- 
rious character. They have armed themselves in 
large numbers to obtain a reduction in the price 
of bread and meat. So far no acts of violence 
have been committed, except against a few ob- 
noxious baker and butcher stores; but the car- 
riage of M. de Caraman bas been pursued by the 
worst and most excited among the populace, an- 
noying the worthy man with various threats. He 
attempted several times to tranquillize his assail- 


ants by addressing them with his usual firmness, 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


but did not succeed. The mayor of the-city was 
obliged to take flight, and good men anticipated 
very violent deeds. The greatest danger is ex- 
pected on account of promises made by certain 
of the magistrates, at the city hall, to ward off 
from themselves the furious mob. They pledged 
their word that bread should be sold at two cents 
a pound and meat at six. This pledge was 
required to be redeemed, and was immediately an- 
nounced to the rioters with a trumpet—this was 
a present peace-offering, but a very dangerous 
Now, as bread is worth three and a half 
cents, and the meat seven, Marseilles will soon 
need these necessary articles, or the city must 
refund the loss of the tradesmen, which, as the 
sums required are enormous, it cannot do very 
long. Count de Caraman entreats me to go to 
Marseilles, and assist him by my advice, which 
he pretends highly to esteem, as well as to use 
my influence with the inhabitants. It is true, 
they confide in me, and have always shown their 
attachment, whenever I have visited their city. 


one, 


I must therefore restore peace to Marseilles before 
I can accompany you to Paris, and you must 
await me here, Henriette.” 

Madame de Nehra ventured to make a few ob- 
jections, showing him the necessity of his pres- 
ence in the capital, where so much that was per- 
sonal was at stake. But Mirabeau replied that 
it was more urgent for him to go where human 
beings were suffering, and where, if their wants 
were not treated in the right way, greater distress 
“ When I have reéstablished order 
in Marseilles,” he added, ‘‘I will stand before the 
ministry at Paris, demanding of them by what 


would ensue. 


right and in whose interest they are endeavoring 
to arrest and denounce an influence like the one I 
wield. I will show them that I have become a 
tribune of the people, but that the state and so- 
ciety will be the better for it. But you, by dear 
Henriette, shall in the mean time make the ac- 
quaintance of my sister, the Marchioness de Sail- 
She has 
long desired to see you, and I am sure you will 
become great friends.” 


The count hastened to give orders to his ser- 


lant. I will leave a few lines for her. 


~ 


BREAD AND MEAT. 


yants, so that he could start as soon as possible. 


In half an hour all was ready, and he passed so. 
rapidly from Aix to Marseilles, that he was on. 


the shores of the Mediterranean long before 
night, and entered the streets of the city, which 
were by no means in a quiet condition. He or- 
dered his coachman to drive slowly, so that he 
might make observations, which were far from 
satisfactory. Numerous patrols of citizens were 
moving, endeavoring to maintain order, in which 
object they were often prevented by gatherings 
of the populace, who passed with songs and 
cheers. It was plainly seen that violence threat- 
ened the city. The guards were unarmed, and 
used only weapons of persuasion with these tur- 
bulent men, who apparently yielded, but reunited 
in larger numbers. 

Mirabeau, who had a keen eye for such move- 
ments, soon discovered that the rioters tended tow- 


_ard the same point, as if to execute some precon- 


certed plan. He heard that they were fearful lest 
the reduction in the price of bread and meat 
would be discontinued, as the more wealthy in- 
inhabitants refused to pay so much into the city 
treasury as to cover the difference between the 
present price and the actual value of the food. 
The excitement had reference to certain promi- 
nent persons, among whom were especially men- 
tioned M. de la Tour, intendant of the province, 
and a person named Rebuffet, who had made 
himself unpopular by monopolizing the collection 
of the city tolls. 

Mirabeau drove to an hotel, and without resting 
ordered a horse, intending, notwithstanding the 
lateness of the hour, to ride through Marseilles, 
and particularly some districts well known to him, 
inhabited by sailors and day-laborers. Before, 
however, entering these dangerous precincts, he 
had himself announced to the military command- 
er, Count de Caraman, whose summons he had 
so promptly obeyed. 

The old count, with whom Mirabeau had asso- 
ciated on intimate terms in Aix, was in a most 
depressed humor. He was glad that his friend 
had come so quickly, but he did not conceal his 
fear, that the outrages of the coming night would 





175 


be fearful. 
make use of the troops, if at all. The regiments 


He was in doubt how far he should 


stationed at Marseilles were in their barracks, 
awaiting the signal for action. The commander 
desired to have Mirabeau’s candid opinion, after 
having put him in possession of all the facts in 
the case, with clearness and gravity. 

“Let the troops remain in their quarters, 
whatever may happen, I conjure you!” exclaimed 
Mirabeau, vehemently. “ I will not rest to-night, 
I shall 


soon succeed in finding my old friends, and 


but remain on horseback in the streets. 


through them I shall get reliable information. 
By the interference of the soldiers, the affair 
would gain an importance which I wish to pre- 
vent at the very beginning. Military power is 
the most unfortunate that can be employed in a 
popular riot, particularly at the commencement. 
It can only be quelled when its causes are ex- 
plained, and its difficulties treated with justice 
and frankness. I know the people of Marseilles 
—most of them are as brave and honorable as 
any in the world, and I have a true friendship for _ 
thems-some of them have often rowed me about 
in the harbor. 


will argue with them the question of the value of 


On the public market square [ 
food and its reasonable price. I will prove to 
them that low prices are disadvantageous, and 
that, if they did not have sufficient to satisfy 
their hunger when bread cost three and a half 
cents, they will starve when it costs only two; 
for if they demand any article for less than its 
worth, that article is withdrawn from the market, 
I will 
tell them, and you must let me do so with your 


and they must do without it altogether. 


permission, M. Commandant, that bread can only 
become cheap and good by meaus of the assem- 
bly of the Estates in Paris, and that the peop 
must leave this, as well as all other matters, th 
the hands of representatives, whom they them- 
selves freely elect. Do you think that this will 
do good?” 

M. de Caraman shrugged his shoulders, and 
said, after a pause: “We must try every means, 
and we have placed our hopes on you, Count 
Mirabeau. What you do here to restore peace 


176 


will be rightly valued at Paris. I may tell you 
in confidence that I have received orders to watch 
all your steps in this province, but I am not quite 
the man for such a commission. If, however, 
you had refused to act as mediator, for which 
you are well qualified by your relations with the 
people, I would have had some suspicion of your 
intentions; but now I thank you, count, from the 
bottom of my heart.” 

Mirabeau repressed his indignation at the words 
of the commandant, yet he felt it keenly that the 
request he had received was intended as a test of 
his sincerity. He considered it more worthy of his 
dignity not to be shaken by any expression of 
distrust, but to act for the people’s reconciliation, 
He 


hastened away, therefore, promising to send in 


as if he had the confidence of his equals, 


reports as to what transpired, if he could not 
bring them himself. He turned his horse into 
the shortest route, for he knew well the windings 
of the small streets near the harbor, where the 
seafaring population dwelt; and the dashing of 
the old waves upon the strand was a familiar 
sound—recalling to him the sports of his child- 
hood! 

On arriving at the shore, he noticed but few 
persons. Soon he was attracted by low voices 
proceeding from various points, and occasionally 
loud and angry ejaculations. Suddenly the moon 
broke through the clouds, and he was surprised 
at the vast concourse surrounding him, boldly de- 
manding his business. 

‘*We have made no great catch this time!” 
cried a rough voice. ‘He appears neither like a 
mounted policeman, nor a lost member of the 
honorable citizen patrol. He looks more like a 
runaway courtier from Paris who has come to 
cast himself into the moonlit Mediterranean, to 
escape the ruin of the court! ” 

These words were received with applause. 
Mirabeau, however, thought he recognized the 
voice thus preparing an unfavorable reception 
for him, and he looked toward the speaker, call- 
ing in a tone not likely to be unheard: “ Lau- 
rent, come to me!” 

The man bearing that name uttered a cry of 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


joy, and rushed toward the horse, clambering up 
and peering into the countenance of the rider, 
when he exclaimed: “ Yes, that voice has not 
deceived me. Comrades, this is Count Mirabeau ! 
He is a friend of the people, and is one of us. 
Now we shall triumph!” 

The short, insignificant figure of the man who 
had spoken glided away like a lizard. He whis- 
pered a few words, which soon passed through the 
crowd. Covered with coal-dust, he showed that 
his occupation was among coal-barges. His in- 
fluence, however, far exceeded his position, as 
could easily be perceived, since he was obeyed 
with exultation, and a resounding “Long live 
Count Mirabeau!” mingled with the noise of the 
waves. 

Mirabeau lifted his hat, and raising himself in 
his stirrups, said in a voice to be understood far 
beyond the multitude: “ My friends—for so I call 
you with all my heart, since I find myself so 
heartily weleomed by you !—whenever I come to 
Marseilles, I am drawn to this place to exchange 
opinions on the state of public affairs with the 
gentlemen laboring in the harbor. You can 
easily find a better leader than myself, when the 


time comes to confront your enemies (which are 


} also mine) in the open field. But that time is 


not now, and I am not here to put myself at your 
head, but to dissuade you from what you proba- 
bly have in view. I am deeply grieved to find 
you in the wrong in all you have done for several 
days past, and in what, it seems to me, you in- 
tend to do. 
true interests, but I, who am continually occupied 


People are often deceived as to their 


with yours, know that you have been led astray 
by false ideas as to the price of food. And to 
this you add acts of violence, threatening the 
safety of your city, by which articles of necessity 
become dearer than before!” 

The first answer to this address was a murmur- 
ing dissatisfaction. Then arose threatening voices : 
“Who has given you the right to blame us? If 
you wish to mingle in our affairs, you ought at 
least to share our feelings. .A count knows noth- 
ing of how much bread and meat cost a poor, 


man !” 


BREAD AND MEAT. 


“ Silence !”? commanded Laurent, in his loudest 
tone. 
nothing of the condition of the poor! It is Count 


“This is not one of the nobles who know 


Mirabeau, who, notwithstanding his descent, gladly 
eats at the same table with the people, and will 
explain to you exactly how much food ought to 
Listen to him attentively; for he is the 
friend of all the laborers on the piers of Marseilles, 


cost. 


and can tell us what we most need and how we 
can best obtain it.” — 

Mirabeau was about to speak again, when wild 
cries were heard from the adjoining streets, an- 
nouncing the approach of another disorderly com- 
pany. Those among whom the count stood made 
demonstrations of joy, and met the others, who 
were evidently returning from a successful raid 
upon some of the citizens. 

The count called his friend Laurent, to question 
him as to the new-comers. The lighterman said 

‘that these people had been sent to destroy several 
of the stores on the Rue Vive Neuve, as well as to 
assault the house of the tax-gatherer Rebuffet. 
The most daring had been chosen for this purpose, 
and they were returning with the news that they 
had executed their commission ; that the windows 
of the hated Rebuffet’s house were broken by a 
volley of stones, his furniture destroyed, and his 
whole dwelling dismantled ; and that the residence 
of M. dela Tour was served in the same way. 
Mirabeau saw with vexation that the mob were 
beyond his control—that the reins he thought he 
already had in his hands had slipped from him, 
Dejectedly he spurred his horse into the midst of 
the crowd, who were going nearer to the wharf 
buildings, 

Suddenly he was surprised to see torches above 
the heads of the rioters, throwing an ominous 
glare over the whole neighborhood. The lights 
increased rapidly, one kindling another, and ap- 
parently distributed according to preconcerted 
arrangement. Then a whistling was heard, which 
Mirabeau comprehended as the signal for Laurent, 
who was their acknowledged leader, and who was 
still holding the bridle of his friend’s charger. This 
man seemed attached to the count, through some 
former kindness, and he would not leave his patron, 


12 





177 


although the impatient calls of his comrades in- 
creased. 

“T suppose you have something bad in view, 
you dangerous fellows?” asked the count of his 
companion, who stood silently and thoughtfully at 
his side. 

“ Certainly,” replied Laurent, “ our object is to 
set this part of the city on fire—that is the mean- 
ing of those torches. It will be pleasant to illu- 
minate the waves of the Mediterranean. Wealthy 
citizens, who will do nothing for our relief, will be 
rather alarmed when they see that we are resolved 
It is possible that this may be 
a wild sort of night, count; for, in the confusion, 


to do the worst. 


we intend to open the prisons, and to set free 
many honest persons.” 

“What madness, Laurent!” cried Mirabeau, 
with alarm. ‘Go and try to dissuade your com- 
rades from an undertaking both useless and crim- 
inal, bringing more trouble upon you all. You 
are a sensible man, with whom I had many con- 
versations about the state and society, when you 
accompanied me in my bathing excursions; and 
Now I 


ask you to use your influence, and restore those 


you always took good care of the boat. 


men to sanity—if not, they will endanger many 
innocent lives, besides destroying property to their 
own injury.” 

“T can do nothing,” replied Laurent, in a dis- 
heartened manner. “But if you speak to them 
again, do not forget that we are really suffering, 
and that we must at least have some hope for the 
future ; such a strain might prevent our resistance 
now against those who oppress and defraud us!” 

The count rode into the midst of the rioters, 
who were holding a final consultation as to their 
operations for the night. ‘Extinguish your 
torches, my dear friends!” he eried, springing to 
the ground, and handing the reins to one of the 
most reckless-looking in the crowd, who in his 
surprise quietly took them. Mirabeau went about 
among the men, looking into their countenances: 
and talking to those who seemed to be the more. 
intelligent, offering his hand, and conjuring them. 
not to begin the sacred conflict for right by acts: 
of violence and wrong. ‘“ And, my friends, let me: 


178 


explain to you why you cannot have food cheaper 
than you have it now,” he continued, standing on 
a rock near the shore, and looking down upon the 
mob, who, with their torches, seemed to be in 
earnest. They quietly waited for his words, al- 
though the night was becoming inclement. A 
storm was brooding on the sea, for the waves 
were rising, and flung their spray over the orator’s 
stand. 

“As to this matter of food, my dear friends,” 
Mirabeau resumed, “there are two obvious con- 
siderations: bread must be plenty and cheap.” 

Shouts of approval were heard: “ Bravo!” 
That is the truth !”, 
The count could not refrain from smiling at the 


“‘ Count Mirabeau is right! 


readiness with which the starving multitude ac- 
cepted his propositions. He continued gravely 
and solemnly: “ Well, my friends, you agree with 
me in these two points. 
the truth of this doctrine, that nothing ought to 


be expected by the consumer for less than it costs 


Now you will also see 


the seller. And let me tell you another thing, 
that if bread is to be cheap, wheat must be cheap!” 

“ Yes, wheat ought to be cheap !” they repeated 
while they pressed closer around the speaker. 
“ Long live Count Mirabeau! MHeis a true friend 
of the people!” 

“But, my friends, wheat is very high at pres- 
ent!” resumed the count. ‘You are just and 
reasonable men ; let us talk a little on that point. 
If wheat is dear everywhere, how can you expect 
it to be cheap at Marseilles ? 


been at best very indifferent; it was God’s will 


The harvests have 


that they should be so, and in another year He 
That 
is a law of the Supreme Wisdom in Nature. And 


will give us abundance as a compensation. 


again, the wars waged in distant regions of the 
world are partly the cause of the high prices pre- 
vailing. You know, my worthy countrymen, that 
the wheat youconsume does not grow here. Some 
comes from other districts of France, but by far 
The 
grain grown in Afriea is ‘bought by the Turks, 


the larger part from America and Africa. 


who are engaged in war, and the hostilities exist- 
ing between the United States and Algiers also 
obstruct this commerce. As wheat, however, in 


one of his friends. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


other places is even dearer than in Marseilles, 
many merehants that would otherwise trade here, 
as formerly, do not come at all, but go where they 
can realize most money. How, then, can you ex- 
pect your fellow-citizens, who have to purchase at 
high rates, to sell to you at low ones? They will 
cease to purchase at all, and you must starve. 
What do you think, my friends?” 

Renewed applause followed. Laurent jumped 
upon Mirabeau’s horse, and standing on the sad- 
dle, cried in a screaming voice: “ Wheat is dear 
because the Turks make it so, and we in Mar- 
seilles cannot help it. Hurrah for Count Mira- 
beau, who has made us understand this!” 
Scarcely had he spoken these words, which had 
great influence with the crowd, when, the horse 
making a movement, he was thrown: from the 
saddle, and, with a groan, fell into the arms of 
This accident excited laugh- 
ter, plainly indicating that the violent measures 
the rioters had in view, and which Mirabeau was 
trying to prevent, were already half forgotten. 

After silence was restored, the count began 
again: ‘Every laborer is worthy of his hire. 
Bakers must also be paid for their trouble, for 
bread is not made without hands. You are all 
workers, and I consider myself as one of you— 
there can be no higher dignity than that of labor, 
each doing according to his strength and skill. 
And are we to exclude bakers from their privi- 
leges by forcing them to receive less than they 
earn? Some one will have to bear the loss if 
you insist on buying for two cents what is worth 
three and a half. You may reply that the com- 
munity should pay the difference ; and I ask, who 
It is not a fabulous 
dragon, living in a cave, guarding a mine of gold. 


constitute the community ? 


You yourselves are a portion of society, and if 
any among you have hitherto not been so consid- 
ered, they shall be in future, end rightfully. I 
vouch for this. As soon as the new Estates of 
the kingdom assemble in Paris, I will speak for 
you—for your bread and meat, and for all your 
rights. Will you not have patience and believe 
me when I say that better times will soon come? 


Wait until the king and the whole nation have 


BREAD AND MEAT. 


been born again to a life of liberty. Then all the 
necessaries of life will be as cheap as you desire 
them. To-night, then, throw your torches and 
pitch-hoops into the sea. I know you will have 
patience; your manly features do not deceive me ; 
you will again pay the customary prices, to which 
the authorities will have to return, if you are not 
resolved on anarchy and starvation. Give me 
your word that you will be honest in your pover- 
ty, and great and good in your determination ! ” 

Mirabeau seized a torch, held by one of the 
men nearest to him, and hurled it into the waves. 
The man who first followed this example was 
Laurent, and soon the rest emulated each other 
in their efforts to throw in as skilful a manner as 
possible, amid laughter and jests. In a few 
minutes the count could scarcely recognize the 
faces that a moment before were so distinctly be- 
fore hint in the glare of hundreds of torches now 
- extinguished in the sea. As he hastily vaulted 
into the saddle, he fancied that the crowd had 
already dispersed, but departing he heard behind 
him persons uttering his name, and blessing him 
for the wise thoughts that had destroyed their 
purposes. 

Mirabeau rode back into the interior of the 
city to make a report to Count de Caraman of 
what had transpired. The commandant was 
asleep, and Mirabeau would not have the old 
gentleman awakened, as he himself could now un- 
dertake to guarantee the tranquillity of Marseilles. 
Then he went to the prefecture, to inform himself 
of the amount of wheat in the city. After much 
trouble he managed to assemble the officials, but 
his exertions were well repaid by the favorable 
results of the examination. It was ascertained 
that sufficient provisions were on hand to last 
more than three months. 

The count returned to his hotel, not, however, 
to rest, but to write an appeal in his own name to 
the people of Marseilles. He rode to a printer’s 
office, to have the paper printed and posted at all 
the street corners before daybreak. His ardor 
was unwearied, for, after having made all his 
arrangements, he returned to the harbor to 


greet the rising sun by the seaside, Passing up 





179 


and down, he noticed that the laborers were again 
at their work, having been idle for many days, 
Several 
reminded him of the repulsive faces he had seen 
during the night, and by their abashed greetings 
he saw that he was not deceived. Others stood 
in apparent wonder, not comprehending how the 
rider of the black horse could still be in the same 
place. He was pleased that at his approach the 
men whom he had disarmed but a few hours be- 


and that they were quiet and orderly. 


fore were desirous of showing their willingness to 
work. Riding past one of the street corners the 
count noticed that his appeal was already pub- 
lished, and that the passing laborers were aware 
of the fact that it contained. special information 
for them.* They were reading it and making fa- 
vorable comments. His presence was soon ob- 
served, and one of the group, respectfully ap- 
proaching him, said: “You have done well, 
count, and we thank you, particularly now that 
you have had your words printed, that we may 
remember them.” 

Mirabeau recognized his friend Laurent, who 
But when the 
count, after uttering a few hearty words to the 
men, was about to continue his route, the lighter- 


was expressing his gratitude. 


man seized the reins of the horse, begging a word 
of explanation for himself and his comrades. 
“Are you in earnest in your published address 
ov the wall yonder, as to what you say of the 
king, asking us not to grieve so good a man ? and 
when you say, ‘remember his love and kindness 
for us, and shed tears of joy for the pleasure our 
Dur- 
ing the night you mentioned the king several 


good order and obedience will cause him?’ 


times, at which many of us were greatly sur- 
prised.” 

“How could that surprise you?” asked Mira- 
“The king is the head of the 
During the past stormy night, when I 


beau, gravely. 
nation. 
saw you around me tossing your torches, I became 
a little monarchical; that is to say (do not mis- 


understand me, my children), when sovereign and 


| subjects love one another, there must be a very 





* ‘* Avis de Mirabeau au Peuple de Marseilles,” by 
Montigny, vol. v., p. 411. 


180 


happy state of affairs. If the people bring their 
king near their hearts, they have a friend in him 
often more to be relied'on than themselves. 
Have we not sometimes considered it a benefit to 
have our irregular inclinations restrained by the 
firm will of a friend—one who has an interest in 
us, and whose will may easily be our own. There- 
fore I repeat to you: Love the king, and call on 
him in your troubles, for he must love you as him- 
self, and his welfare is indissolubly yours,” * 

This was listened to in silence, and the count 
continued his way, politely greeted by the people. 
Exclamations of “ Long live the king!” resound- 
ed as he passed. He rode to the residence of 
Count de Caraman, who he hoped would now be 
accessible. The commandant met him with an 
anxious countenance, while Mirabeau expected 
some expression of joy and gratitude: 

“Do you not know how tranquil your Mar- 
seilles is? ” asked the latter, in rather an irritated 
tone. 

“You have 
effected wonders, count, and we are indebted to 


“T know it,” replied Caraman. 
’ p 


you for restoring order in our city. And the 
manner in which you have acted will be favorably 
remembered and recognized at Paris, for you have 
improved the opportunity to strengthen the love 
of the people for our good king. I shall not fail 
to report all to the ministry. But news has ar- 
rived that really alarms me. Similar disturbances 
have broken out in Aix, and things are in no bet- 
ter condition there than they were at Marseilles, 
At the same time I have received reports from 
Toulon, where the people have ill-treated the 
royal troops. I am afraid we are approaching 
evil times.” 

“No,” replied Mirabeau, confidently, “ the 
future will not be so—it is the past that may be 
so designated. The shadows that frighten you 
belong not to what is coming, but to what is de- 
parting. I must hasten to Aix immediately, for 
I have many good friends there. Ihave not taken 
a moment’s rest since I left, and have lived on 


horseback from the moment of my arrival, but I 





* Mirabeau’s proclamation to the people of Mar- 
seilles. 


| landed proprietors of the vicinity, I think!” said 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


will reéstablish order there to-day, rest assured 
of that, M. Commandant.” 

“But you are said to be the cause of the com- 
motion in Aix,” said Caraman, casting a distrust- 
“T am told that 
your association with the populace there has ex- 


ful side-glance at Mirabeau. 


cited them, and that you have aroused their pas- 
sions to gain your own purposes.” 

‘You have received these fine reports from the 
Mirabeau, laughing. -“Those blind men forced 
me to assume the role of tribune of the people, . 
and if I act against them, it is for the preserva- 
tion of truth and order. Farewell, M. Commund- 
ant ; I shall have the honor of sending you a very 
satisfactory account this evening, or, at the latest, 
to-morrow morning.” 

He hastened to his hotel, and, quickly mount- 
ing his horse, was in a few moments on the road | 
to Aix, moving at the speed of a racer. It was 
market-day, and the sale of provisions was about 
to begin as Mirabeau entered the town. His keen 
eye soon perceived that a popular tumult was in- 
tended, in order to resist the high prices, which 
had excited as much dissatisfaction at Aix as at 
other places. Troops were in different parts of 
the streets, stationed to preserve order. Visiting 
the commandant of the town, he urged with 
eloquence the withdrawal of the soldiers. His 
success at Marseilles was remembered, and he 
was intrusted with the security of the market at 
Aix, being permitted to organize a body of militia, 
He 
went to the houses of several of the principal cit- 


which he accomplished in a very short time. 


izens with whom he was well acquainted, and 
engaged their aid in forming citizen picket-guards, 
having power to elect their own officers. He dis- 
tributed his men at the gates and at various points 
of the town, so that he soon had it under his con- 
trol. Disturbances, however, arose in several dis- 
tricts, because the rioters intended to prevent the 
wagons loaded with wheat from having access to 
the market, so that they might obtain food by 
force. He went on foot to those scenes of violence, 
and, mingling with the crowd, talked to the most 
sensible among them, obtaining a promise that 


BREAD AND MEAT. 


they would be just and reasonable. In address- 
ing them, he asked for their word of honor (which 
they felt to be highly flattering) that they would 
not attempt to break the peace. Passing from 
post to post he was successful in allaying the pas- 
sions of the people. On receiving notice that 
large numbers of citizens from the vicinity had 
armed themselves, and were approaching to the 
assistance of the inhabitants of Aix, he rushed 
out of the gate and induced them to return home 
without delay. 

It was as much the irresistible oratory of Mira- 
beau as the impression of his personal self-sacri- 
fice and enthusiastic devotion, that influenced the 
minds of the people, and attached them to him 
and his doctrines. After all fear of outbreak was 
removed in the town and its vicinity, he was sur- 
rounded on the market square by a vast crowd, 
who only wished to hear and see the “ friend of 
- the people ”’—their “‘ father,” as many of the la- 
borers called him. Men, women, and children, 
pressed around, following him everywhere, calling 
him their protector, who, if he would only remain 
with them, would point out to them the right 
way, and defend them from oppression and star- 
vation.* 

Meanwhile, several of the aristocracy arrived 
armed, and noisily inveighed against those who 
had formed military organizations without making 
the nobles their officers. It was considered due 
their rank and dignity that they should command, 
The 
Marquis de Marignane and others, who had shown 


and their appointment was insisted upon. 


themselves particularly active in expelling Mira- 
beau from the assembly, made themselves equally 
conspicuous on this occasion. The count de- 
puted his friend and partner Le Tellier to advise 
them to return to their cellars, where they had 
passed the hours of danger, hiding their treasures 
and persons in fancied security. 

When he considered his labors ended, the 
count returned to the hotel to greet Henriette, 
whom he had not seen since his return from Mar- 


seilles. She met him with joy, and covered his 





* From a description of this scene by Mirabeau him- 
self.—Montigny, vol. v., p. 305. 










ag 181 
f inde has informed me of 
i" e said, “and I 
yeRSIS 


«~ 


hands with kisses. 


But now you are 
here, I almost feel inclined to kneel to you.” 


“No, my love,” he replied, embracing her, “a 


who thank and admire you. 


day approaches when one human being may not 
kneel to another, because all will then be equals. 
Now that I have finished my duty in this place, I 
shall start immediately for Paris with you. Per- 
haps my conduct here may aid me in more rapidly 
arranging my affairs.” 

“What!” exclaimed Henriette, “for thirty-six 
hours you have had no rest, and perhaps no re- 
freshment !” 

“Tt is true,” said Mirabeau, “I have been on 
horseback nearly all that time, and I have taken 
but a glass of Bordeaux wine and a small roll, 
But I feel as strong as a young god, and I do not 
see why I am to waste my time in sleep, while my 
enemies in Paris are endeavoring to prevent my 
presence in the National Assembly. On the con- 
trary, we ought to be in the greatest haste to de- 
part. The travelling-carriage must be here in 
half an hour.” 

“Indeed, no!” replied Henriette, firmly, and 
in a manner which was sometimes successfully 
assumed. “You will remain here, my friend, and 
to-morrow morning, at a reasonable hour, the 
coach will be at the door. Your strength is ex- 
hausted, say what you will, and if you are not 
more careful of yourself you will be forced to 
keep your room while the National Assembly is in 
session. In a word, I cannot let you depart to- 
day.” 

“You are charming in your refractory mood, as 
in* every thing else,” said the count, looking at 
her tenderly, “and simply to please you, I will 
remain another night. To make up for lost time, 
let us order a good supper. I have had some 
trouble, during the past two days, about the peo- 


ple’s food, and I think I deserve a little myself.” 


182 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 
THE DEPUTY OF THE THIRD ESTATE. 


MiraBEav remained but a few weeks in the 
capital, He soon succeeded in coming to terms 
with the ministry through the influence of his 
The book on the secret history of the 


court at Berlin was condemned by the Parliament 


friends. 


of Paris to be publicly burned, but the: author 
was entirely passed over; the count could leave 
the city without fearing prosecution, and return 
to Provence, where he hoped to be elected deputy 
to the National Assembly. Henriette saw her 
friend depart with pain and uneasiness, for she 
was obliged to remain with Coco and await Mira- 
beau’s return. He travelled with extraordinary 
speed; the election day was at hand, and he con- 
sidered it necessary to speak once more to the 
voters of the Third Estate, in order to destroy 
any influence acting against him during his ab- 
sence, 

In a small village, about five post-stations from 
Aix, where the count changed horses, he was de- 
Jayed by the sudden illness of his valet de cham- 
bre Boyer. He loved his servant too well to 
leave him in such a helpless condition, especially 
as the disease seemed to be increasing. While 
trying to obtain assistance for the sufferer, who 


was ill of cholera, in the small, post-house, the 


count was standing in a despairing mood before 
the door, and heard part of a conversation be- 
tween the postmaster and his wife. 

“The courier has gone to Aix,” said Louis 
Martin, “to announce the arrival here of Count 
Mirabeau. They intend to show him great honor, 
and will carry him into the town in triumph, I 
I have 
been ordered to detain the count by some pre- 


am in a quandary as to what I am to do. 


text, that time may be gained to finish the prepa- 
rations for his reception. What can I do to keep 
him here?” 

“You are a fool and will ever remain one,” re- 
plied the wife, with an ardor not at all compli- 
mentary to her lord and master. “Do you not 


see that the illness of the servant is sufficient to 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


detain the count? What need have you to tor- 
ment yourself? ” 

“ The illness of the valet may retard the master, — 
but Ido not. I have been expressly ordered by 
the department at Aix to detain him at least six 
hours, It is an official affair, and I must obey 
unconditionally. Now I am undecided whether I 
shall make a pretext of want of horses to the 
poor count, who seems to be concerned for the 
illness of his servant. They are about to elect 
him a deputy of the Third Estate, and I am se- 
lected to vex such a man!” 

“You surpass yourself to-day, Louis,” replied 
“ On look- 
ing at others, like Count Mirabeau, for instance, I 


Mrs. Martin, in a contemptuous tone. 
discover what a man is. And I, who was cer- 
tainly born for something better, have married 
such a blockhead!” 

Mirabeau thought he bad heard enough, and - 
returned hastily to his valet. “Be of good cheer, 
Boyer,” he cried to the poor fellow, “I shall re- 
main with you until you are better. My election 
in Aix is sure. I have just heard it by a singular 
accident.” 

The faithful servant nodded with a joyful ex- 
pression. In the mean time the physician of the 
neighborhood made his appearance, who began to 
occupy himself with the patient, giving, however, 
He declared that he 
had no remedy for a disease which had lately 


no hope of his recovery. 


carried off so many. In a few hours Boyer died 
in frightful convulsions. 4 

“My poor valet!” moaned Mirabeau, contem. 
plating the body, “‘no more magic lanterns, or 
Chinese comedies! Oh, what a terrible scourge 
is this cholera ! Does it teach me of the moral 
and civil disorders of society, assuming at last its 
most fearful form of evil? Is it the forerunner 
of new terrors? I feel sad indeed when I think 
that this malady may arrest me also on my jour- 
ney to-day.” * 

The count now prepared to leave. On ap- 
proaching Lambesc, he was greeted outside the 
gates by a deputation, consisting of the principal 





* Vide Montigny, ‘*‘ Mémoires de Mirabeau,’* vol. v.. 
p. 274, 


THE DEPUTY OF THE THIRD ESTATE. 


officials, who waited to receive him in the name 
of the community. He was led into the town, in 
the streets of which thousands cried: “ Long live 
Count Mirabeau! Long live the father of his 
country.” * The exclamations were accompanied 
with the ringing of bells, and the firing of cannon. 
Tears glittered in Mirabeau’s eyes. “I see now,” 
he said to himself, while his carriage was slowly 
moving along, “what abject slaves men are! 
When tyrants lose all hope of governing, they 
may still rely on a feeling of gratitude!” 

Arrived in the centre of the market square, the 
people wished to unharness his horses and draw 
““My friends,” he said, 
gravely and in a distressed tone, “men were not 


the carriage themselves. 


made to carry their fellows. You have already 
enough to bear, and I intend to lighten your load, 
not increase it!” 

The count next changed horses at the village 
In this 
place also the people assembled to greet him, 


of St. Cannat, a league from Lambese. 


and with shouts of honor and personal good- 
» will were mingled those of “ Long live the king!” 
As he was leaving St. Cannat he noticed a travel- 
ling-carriage approach from the opposite direc- 
tion, in which he recognized his sister, the Mar- 
chioness de Saillant, who came to surprise him. 
He left his own conveyance in charge of his ser- 
vants, and entered that of his sister. 

“You do not appear cheerful, my brother,” said 
Caroline, looking at him more attentively after 
welcoming him. “I hoped at least to see you 
smile, having gained the height of your wishes, 
and become the favorite of the people!” 

“T cannot forget the death of my best servant, 
who was suddenly called away from me during 
“But it 
cheers me that you have come, Caroline; for I 


my journey,” replied Mirabeau, sadly. 


must confess to you that these rejoicings really 
make my heart ache. From the moment that I 
felt myself elevated by the popular favor, I have 
almost regretted that I have attained my object. 
I love the people, as I would a fellow-creature in 


distress, but now that I have associated myself 





* So described by Mirabeau’s sister, the Marchioness 
de Saillant.—Montigny, vol v., p. 274. 


‘the Third Estate. 





183 


with their destiny, I feel how momentous this is, 
Suppose that nothing good can ever be instilled 
into them—that on account of an original per- 
versity they are excluded from happiness and 
liberty? I almost wish that I had not succeeded 
in reconciling the ministry in Paris; and that M. 
Necker had persevered in his intention of a crim- 
inal process, and thus driven me from the elec- 
tions.” 

*“T see you are satisfied in reference to your 
personal affairs in the capital,” replied Madame 
“ And in 
Aix you have been unanimously elected deputy of 


de Saillant, smiling at his melancholy. 


As soon as we approach the 
town, you will have evidence enough. But I 
wished to be the first to inform you. I know 
you have set your heart on this matter, and al- 
though I still half belong to the other party, I 
came to share your pleasure, as I did when we 
were children.” 

“You are right,” said Mirabeau, pressing her 
hand; “I am sometimes glad the decision is draw- 
ing nigh, for which I have so long waited. The 
people are probably better than they appear, and 
the question will be, to make them a power in the 
M. Necker did not behave so badly 
toward me as I had been led to expect. I really 
did attack him violently for his unfortunate in- 
troduction of paper money, by which conjurer’s 
trick he thought to sustain the treasury of 


government, 


France; and yet he complied with the petitions 
of my friend the Abbé Cerutti, and allows me to 
do as I like, although I am his opponent, and will 
continue so in the National Assembly. Truly, I__ 
repeat it, men are better than they appear, and I 
will not let this thought leave me to-day. If 
there be such a disease as a melancholy from 
success, I should say I suffer from it while the 
people are making these grand preparations for 
my reception.” ' 

They were about two leagues from Aix whea 
they beheld a procession coming to meet them. 
Mirabeau recognized by their different standards 
the committees of the various wards of the town 
approaching to pay him homage. They expressed 
their joy in shouts of welcome, and wreaths of 


184 


flowers were thrown into the carriage. Arranging 
themselves in order, they formed an escort for 
their favorite deputy. Having reached the moun- 
tains, he beheld the town before them filled with 
people from the surrounding country awaiting to 
greet him. Stopping the carriage, they would not 
be satisfied without seeing and hearing their cho- 
sen delegate, who immediately addressed them, 
expressing thanks for his election, and their deter- 
mination to send him fully authorized to the Na- 
“ And I bring you,” he 
continued, ‘‘many greetings from your friends in 
the capital, For in the clubs I attended, those of 
the same mind with yourselves inquired about you, 


tional Assembly in Paris. 


and I answered, that the people whose hearts are 
warmed by a southern sun, will give strength to 
the liberty of France. 
greeting of free fraternity, which will be heard 


They sent you by me the 


through the whole land. But I must tell you, my 
friends, that in many respects my sojourn did not 
agree with me, and I thank God that I am in the 
fair vales of Provence, where I inhale again the 
Shall I tell you 
what it is that so displeased me in Paris, and 


breath of your sweet flowers. 


what you must suffer no longer to exist? It is 
the new ministry, to which we certainly owe the 
convocation of the Estates-General, but which, 
when well examined, is not worthy of confidence. 

“‘ Many well-meaning people think it a good 
sign that Minister Necker has been replaced at the 
head of our finances; others consider him but as 
a foreboding gull that belongs to the approaching 
tempest. God created the world out of nothing, 
it is true; but it does not follow that the financial 
minister could bring it into existence out of paper- 
money. Now Necker expects to reéstablish the 
credit of France and insure its happiness by issu- 
ing such currency, which is worse than nothing, 
for it is a delusion, dispersed by the first ray of 
returning reason. I warn you against this sham 
of tyranny. It is the origin of all falsehood, lead- 
ing to dissipation and violence.* This state policy 
is a conjurer’s device, such as you have often seen 
at fairs. You remember the trick with the gob- 


COUNT MIRABEAU. 


lets, where all the magic consists in rapidity of 
motion? Suddenly something turns up that was 
not expected; so you need not be alarmed at re- 
sults of which you do not dream. 

** All free nations have a dislike to paper-money, 
which is more or less based on dishonesty, and is 
obnoxious to a government of real liberty. The 
Americans endured every hardship to rid them- 
selves of their oppressors, but the necessary issue 
of such money was soon redeemed. France requires 
new credit, if she is to outlive the unexampled 
prodigality of her own citizens in high places ; but 
this credit itself would be another swindle, and 
cannot be entertained. National confidence must 
first be created, and this is the reason why your 
king (and he is good to you all) now convokes a 
National Assembly. 

“We will take the government at its word, and 
call upon the representatives of the people to in- | 
Directed by 
the popular will, we shall demand a new constitu- 


stitute what taxes are necessary. 


tion for France. Our country must be remodelled, 
my friends, so that the freedom and rights of the 
masses may be recognized, and financial fraud 
abolished. Because you think me worthy of rep- 
resenting you, I feel courage to undertake and 
hope to succeed in what is best for our common 
Long live the king and liberty !” * 

This cry was taken up by a thousand voices, 


interests. 


and reéchoed among the hills. The count ordered 
the horses to be driven rapidly, as he was anxious 
to reach Aix. The people ran alongside the car- 
riage to the residence of the Marchioness de Sail- 
lant, where the count was to stay. Her house 
was situated at the Place des Précheurs, in front 
of a square which was soon crowded with citizens, 
shouting for the friend of the people. He was 
finally forced to appear, and as he descended was 
seized and carried away in the arms of the popu- 
lace. They brought a sedan-chair, decorated with 
garlands, and upon the strong shoulders of his ad- 
mirers he was borne through the town. 

As they were returning, the count noticed that 


another no less excited crowd came from an op- 





* “ Correspondance entre M. C. (Cerutti) et le Comte 
de Mirabean”’ (1789), p. 39. 





* “ Correspondance entre Cerutti et le Comte de Mir- 
abeau,”’ p. 23. 


THE. DEPUTY OF THE THIRD ESTATE. 


posite direction, having an open carriage in their 
midst, which they escorted with unusual acclama- 
tions. The lady seated within it was soon recog- 
nized by the count, to his great consternation, and 
he endeavored to persuade the friends by whom 
he was carried to turn down a side-street. His 
words, spoken in a low voice, were either not un- 
derstood or were intentionally misinterpreted, for 
he was soon brought face to face with his former 
Emilie stretched her arms toward him with 
a cry of anguish, and fell back pale and fainting. 


wife, 


The people in their strange excitement had re- 
solved to reunite the long-separated husband and 
wife. A formal deputation having been sent to 
Castle Marignane, the countess was requested to 
return with them, and offer her hand to Mirabeau 
in token of reconciliation, as they could not suffer 
an enemy of their favorite to dwell in Provence! * 
Emilie was almost alone at the castle, as her 
_ father, the Marquis de Marignane, and the rest of 
the aristocracy, preferred to leave the neighbor- 
hood on this day, so as not to be witnesses of 
what was most hateful to them. The poor countess, 
seldom timid or vacillating, could not resist. Per- 
haps the secret wishes of her heart made it diffi- 
cult for her to meet the people with her natural 
decision. She suffered them to lead her away to 
meet the man she still loved. . 

Mirabeau, in great surprise, sprang from his 
seat. His steps turned toward the carriage, in 
which Emilie was still reclining ina state of un- 
consciousness, Her pale countenance, bearing all 
the traces of her former extraordinary beauty, re- 
minded him of the troubled days of his youth. 
He was about to enter the coach, when he per- 
ceived his partner Le Tellier upon the box, nod- 
ding to him in a sly and approving manner, giving 
him to understand that this expedition to Castle 
Marignane was the work of the cloth-merchant. 
Mirabeau suddenly felt his heart chilled. He re- 
membered that his sister had had* many commu- 
nications with Le Tellier, who could be made ser- 
viceable in this way, and he suspected that Madame 
de Saillant was the originator of this strange meet- 





* Montigny, vol. iii., p. 425. 





185 


ing, for the purpose of accomplishing her wishes 
as toa reconciliation. , 

Mirabeau’s first emotion at the generous activ- 
ity of the people vanished. He ordered Le Tel- 
lier to go to the Marchioness de Saillant, and ask 
her presence; but this lady had observed every 
thing from her window, and was already running 


to the assistance of her friend. Many hands were 


offered to aid in carrying the countess into the 
house, and the triumphal chair, with all its deco- 
rations, was used for that purpose. The people 
were deeply interested in this scene. The homage 
paid to Mirabeau ceased for a moment, for all 
were occupied, from curiosity and sympathy, with 
the sufferings of the beautiful lady, led away by 
her sister-in-law with tears and kisses. 

The count took occasion to withdraw from any 
further demonstrations of his friends and electors, 
passing unperceived into another street, to the 
dwelling of the lawyer Jaubert, where he was ex- 
pected at dinner. The invitation had been sent 
to Paris, and the count gladly accepted it, as he 
would meet there the leaders of the popular party. 

“Poor Emilie, we are separated and must 
remain so foréver,” he said to himself, as he 
passed to his friend’s. ‘TI have always done jus- 
tice to your amiable qualities, although we did not 
render each otherhappy. Beautiful, sensible, and 
courteous, aS you were, you could not give peace 
to my heart. While you lay before me pale and 
helpless, I remembered that I even once threat- 
ened to raise my hand against you, accusing you of 
infidelity to our vows. Shame overwhelmed me, 
and to-day I had an opportunity to make amends 
for the past; but as you were once too weak to 
resist your father’s hatred toward me, and ren- 
dered your divorce from me as public as possible, 
so my proud heart rejected you now in the pres- 
ence of the people. I scarcely wished it, but I 
could not act otherwise. Society and morals have 
their laws of compensation—more than men gen- 
erally imagine.” Revolving such thoughts, he 
arrived at the residence of M. Jaubert. As he 
was about to enter, he noticed a man approaching 
on a horse, covered with perspiration and dust. 


“A dispatch from the electors of the Third 


- 186 


Estate of Marseilles to Count Mirabeau!” said 
the courier, drawing forth a letter and handing it. 

The count quickly opened the paper, and read 
the announcement of his election. “You rode 
well, my good man,” replied Mirabeau, smiling, 
‘nevertheless you come a little too late. Iam 
proud of having been elected representative of the 
men of Aix, though I express my gratitude to the 
gentlemen of the Third Estate of Marseilles. I 
love one of these cities as well as the other, and 
would gladly be a resident of both, if I could. 
But Aix first demanded my services, and I must 
give them. Return this answer, for the present, 
to the commissioners. I will shortly visit Mar- 
seilles myself, and express to the people my sincere 
thanks!” 

After dismissing the messenger, he entered the 
house of his friend, where the company were 

waiting him, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
THE PROCESSION OF THE THREE ESTATES. 


On the 4th of May, 1789, a bright, balmy day, 
Chamfort was seated in front of a café at Ver- 
sailles, engaged in a game of chess with the Abbé 
Cerutti, with whom he had come from Paris a few 
days before. 

The two friends were absorbed in their play, 
although the place was by no means favorable for 
profound study. It was so crowded that little 
room was left for the players ; but they maintained 
their position at the small table, and made their 
moves undisturbed by the commotion around 
them. 

The people, finding that the expected display in 
the streets was retarded, amused themselves by 
watching Chamfort and Cerutti. The former 
looked up several times at the persons nearest 
him, nodding to them, although he was only ac- 
quainted with their faces, having frequently seen 
them at the Palais-Royal in Paris, when he played 
chess at the newly-organized “Club Politique.” 





* 


COUNT MIRABEAU. % ; 


€ 

Those thronging the usually silent streets of the 
royal city belonged mostly to Paris. They had 
come to witness the solemn ceremonies preced- 
ing the opening of the sessions of the Estates, an- 
nounced to take place on the 5th of May. The 
sensation this event produced in the capital of 
France, caused nearly the whole population to 
visit Versailles. Many of the savage-looking 
figures moving about since the elections, were 
among them. They so suddenly appeared in 
Paris, and so unexpectedly, that one might almost 
suppose them. to have come from the barbaric ages. 
The capital for some time had been turbulent and 
dangerous; nor was there full confidence of order 
at Versailles, which suggested to the stranger 
good-feeling and courtesy. The more sober- 
minded remembered those roving bands that had 


terrified “Paris a few days before, and for whose 


restraint the commandant, M. de Besenval, had | 


summoned two regiments of the guard. This old 
city of the French kings, however, presented a 
more. cheerful aspect than ever before. The 
thoroughfares were ornamented with crown tapes- 
tries, and thie balconies of the houses variously 
decorated, while at the windows stood spectators 
of all classes, among them groups of ladies in gay 
toilets. 
where the procession could first be seen. 


All éyes were turned toward the place 


The French as well as the Swiss guards were 
already stationed along the streets from the 
church of Notre Dame to that of St. Louis, pass- 
ing through the principal portions of the city. It 
was intended to solemnize the oceasion by reli- 
gious exercises, to be held the day previous to the 
opening of the assembly, as a fit preparation for 
the important labors before them. The deputies 
had met in the cathedral of Notre Dame, and 
every ear was listening for the first sound of the 
bells announcing that the procession had moved: 
for the church of St. Louis. 

* At the moment our representatives pass, your 
king will be checkmated,” said Chamfort to the 
Abbé Cerutti, suddenly checking the king of the 
latter. oo 

“Tt certainly looks like it,” replied the abbé, 


smiling. “But I place my queen before him, 


THE PROCESSION OF 


and the situation is different, which will give you 
some trouble, my dear friend.” | 

“That is the worse thing you can do,” said 
“Tt is what 


has nearly caused the ruin of our land, and you 


Chamfort, with a comic gesture. 


expect to succeed by such a move, Cerutti? The 
queen ought never to become more prominent 
than her consort, because she then appears to 
reign conjointly with him, and meddles with pol- 
itics, which is no work for ladies. How much 
better would be the condition of Louis XVI. if 
Marie Antoinette, vain of her superior mind, and 
supposing that state affairs are best in her hands, 
had not interfered between the sovereign and his 
subjects! Pay attention now ; my rook advances, 
protected by two pawns, which I always fancy 
resemble a popular party in their strength and 
energy. My pieces place themselves immediately 
before your queen, and threaten both her and his 
majesty.” Several of those looking on expressed 
their approbation by cries of “Bravo!” which 
seemed to amuse Chamfort. 

“The case is not so bad as it looks,” replied 
the abbé. ‘“ My bishop relieves both my royal 
personages.” pea 

“The bishop cannot save» their majesties.” 
said Chamfort, impressively. ‘They are faithful 
courtiers, brought up with kings and queens, and 
move obliyuely. They are lost as soon as a 
knight bestirs himself.” 

“The knight,” replied Cerutti, in a tone of vex- 
It is 
a very democratic piece—one of the ‘ philosophic 


ation, “‘ certainly interferes with my plans. 
nobles of the epoch.’ His insidious movement re- 
minds me of certain sophisms in reference to the 
king. However, I attack him with a pawn, for 
you must not suppose the field is quite aban- 
doned by the peasants.” 

“T care nothing about that, but take your 
bishop with my knight.” “Your.queen is now 
face to face with the ‘ philosophic nobleman,’ and 
she may bite her Hapsburg under-lip, if she 
pleases. For if she tries to take her disagreeable 
neighbor, she falls into the hands of the rook. I 
see, M. Cerutti, that we do not yet think quite 
alike, and, even on the day before the opening of 


THE THREE ESTATES. 187 


the National Assembly, it seems that we cannot 
agree.” 

“J must always be more conservative than you, 
my friend,” said Cerutti. ‘For I find that your 
knight, who has so boldly attacked my queen, 
protects the royal position; I can now remove 
her, and say check to your king!” 

“The tables are turned,” replied Chamfort, 
laughing. “Very well, my reactionary abbé, I 
see that your friendship with the present finan- 
cial minister, M. Necker, has been of advantage to 
you, who have learned how to retire by a coup de 
thédtre. Your royal lady is lost, sir, for you must 
cover your king; and my rook, a democratic 
gentleman, protected by the knight, approaches 
and again cries check.” 

**T see you are a dangerous opponent,” ex- 
claimed the abbé, in an irritated tone. “I can 
do nothing but surrender. It may be that your 
manner of attack is the right one, and I might be 
converted to the democratic side, if your parti- 
sans were less tumultuous, and did not talk so 
much of blood.” 

“Do you allude to the sanguinary scenes a few 
days ago in Paris?” asked Chamfort, his eyes 
beginning to sparkle. “Believe me, the poor 
laborers of the Faubourgs Saint Antoine and Saint 
Marceau, who burned down the house of the 
manufacturer Réveillon, were merely the instru- 
Whether this man is 
an aristocrat or not, the populace would scarcely 
have cared about him, if they had not been in- 
stigated by the agents of the Duke d’Orleans.” 

“What!” replied Cerutti, quickly. ‘Do you 
really think that the duke could have had any 
interest in such disturbances in the capital?” 

“T not only think it—I know it,” said Cham- 
fort. 
tribute money among those laborers, and they 


ments of a certain plot. 


“T have seen the creatures of the duke dis- 


did not conceal the name of him who commis- 
sioned them, because he wishes to have adherents 
among the people. You know how anxious he 
was, who has suddenly curried the popular favor, 
to be elected deputy of the Estates. 


wished to frighten the court by forsaking them. 


He merely 





And he has really succeeded in being chosen del- 


188 


egate by the aristocracy of Crespy, who fancy 
themselves well represented by a roval prince 
who can command the working masses.” 

“ Réveillon is said to have excited the laborers 
“He told 
them that a workingman ought to be able to live 


by mere arrogance,” replied the abbé. 
on fifteen cents a day. This so greatly inflamed 
the populace, who are ready for any commotion, 
that they burned his property. The bands that 
have suddenly appeared in Paris are a dangerous 
sign of the times, my friend. I met them rush- 
ing through the streets with terrific cries, stop- 
ping the carriages, and forcing those they took 
for aristocrats to descend and walk through the 
mud. They demanded money from any one to 
drink the health of the Third Estate. My good 
sir, I fancy your eulogized Third Estate, for 
which so much enthusiasm is expended, comes 
into the world in rather a scandalous manner.” 
“‘Many things are not very elegant, or even 
apparently favorable, at their beginning,” said 
Chamfort. 
selves as they were intended by nature. I think 


“But in due time they declare them- 


our game of chess, played while waiting for the 
procession, has ended in not the best humor. 
The politics of the day have disturbed us, or per- 
baps my friend the abbé has engaged me in this 
conversation with clerical cunning, to prevent me 
from enjoying my triumph. The popular party 
_is victorious, Cerutti!” 

“ At all events, I acknowledge a defeat,” re- 
plied the abbé. 
will really win the day, who can tell?” 

The bells were ringing the signal that the del- 

: Chamfort 
stepped upon the table to see over the heads of 


“But whether the popular party 


egates were moving from Notre Dame. 


the people; the tall abbé stood near him on a 
chair, remarking that he already saw the first 
rank of the line of march. 

“They are the bells of 1789 that we hear!” 
said Chamfort. 
all nations. 


“They will sound in the ears of 
They announce to you, Cerutti, that 
the popular party is victorious, whose will is the 
same as their action. These bells ring not only 
for all nations, but for all times!” 


The bands, placed at certain distances from 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


each other, played solemn airs. At the same 
time the military tramp was heard, with the 
sound of drums and trumpets, and the hymns 
of the priests. The procession approached. — 
First came the clergy of Versailles, and in their 
Then the 


deputies of the Third Estate, or of the common- 


midst the choir of the royal chapel. 


ers, aS more prudent persons called them. They 
were all dressed in black suits, with small black 
silk mantles, and white cambric cravats—six 
hundred men, thus forming a large part of the 
spectacle, and by their appearance making a 
peculiarly grave impression on the spectators. 
But they walked with such a quiet, determined 
demeanor that they suggested their importance, 
as the élite of the people. The assembled popu- 
lace burst into shouts of applause, clapping their 
hands, throwing their hats into the air, and ex- 
The . 
ladies waved their handkerchiefs from the bal- 


pressing their joy in various exclamations. 


conies and windows; all countenances expressed 
hope, and many eyes shed tears. 

“This is the Third Estate!” said Chamfort. 
“ At every step my heart beats like that of a 
bridegroom. They are not the representatives of 
only one class, but of the whole nation. Mark 
me, they are the true defenders of liberty!” 

“You will fall from your chess-table if you do 
not take care, friend Chamfort!” cried Cerutti, 
“T love the 
Commons as much as you do, although I cannot 


holding his friend to steady him. 


consider them as the whole nation. But tell me, 
why are they habited in such a costume, om,.their 
day of honor? I understand that many, of the 
delegates felt hurt that the regulation required 
them so to clothe themselves,” 

“They are not the best men who feel annoyed P 
on that account,” replied Chamfort, warmly. 
“The delegates prove themselves to be the nation 
because they wear no badges and superfluous 
ornaments distinguishing them as belonging to a 
separate rank. See the aristocracy! how they 
glitter in their gold embroideries and waving 
The 
regulation as to dress seems to me to have re- 


plumes! They are nothing but a class! 


sulted in what is most becoming for the Third 


THE PROCESSION OF THE THREE ESTATES. 


Estate. The people’s condition is not the bright-. 


est, and they have assuredly suffered enough to 
mourn for a government that has oppressed them 
so badly. But this is the dress also of the law- 
yers and state councillors of the Middle Ages—a 
very shrewd idea. For they have been called to 
give counsel to the state, and decide between the 
king and the nation—the past and the future.” 

“ Ah, at last I see our friend Mirabeau in the 
midst of his colleagues!” cried Cerutti. “ But 
Why does 
he wear bis cavalier costume among the black 
cloaks ?” 

“The black habit has been prescribed only to 
the citizens,” replied Chamfort, “and Mirabeau 
does not like to change his toilet. But to make 


why is he not dressed like the rest ? 


up for this, he is walking arm in arm with that 
strong peasant, Gérard, from Brittany, who is the 
apostle of liberty in his region, and is a power in 
himself, with his sunburnt brow and gigantic 
form. Our friend celebrates to-day a triumph. 
How the crowds throng around to catch a glimpse 
of him! They notice him from afar and whisper 
his name. Bravo, Mirabeau! You have attained 
tle summit on which we long desired to see you! 
You have suffered much, but you had a noble 
companion in your misery—the people, and they 
will make a hero of their comrade!” 

“His name is decidedly the most popular in 
France!” said the abbé, looking after the count. 
‘““The people know his history by heart, and re- 
late it to each other as they would an old story 
of some knight—the personal events of his youth, 
his conflicts with his tyrannical father, his incar- 
cerations, and the tortures he suffered in prison, 
as well as his love-adventures. He has become 
distinguished—we hardly know how—and the 
greatest deeds of this century will be associated 
with his name.” 

“So much depends in the world on a name,” 
replied Chamfort, thoughtfully. ‘“Mirabeau has 
, been a loved and ahated one, and this fact will aid 
in making him an historical character. The day 
before yesterday, he aroused again the ill-will of 
the aristocracy. When the three Estates pre- 
sented themselves before the king at the palace, 





189 


Mirabeau was the first to give expression to the 
dissatisfaction of his colleagues, because the dis- 
tinction of rank was made in a manner very in- 
sulting to the people. The nobility and clergy 
were received by his majesty in his cabinet, but 
the commons in a separate hall, and before being 
admitted into it they had to wait a long time. 
This so excited the indignation of our friend that 
he proposed to write a remonstrance and lay it at 
the foot of the throne. When Louis XVI. ap- 
peared, and covered his head during his address, 
Mirabeau also put on his hat, his significant ex- 
ample being, of course, followed by the rest of the 
delegates, announcing in this manner the new era 
of liberty and equality. Hithérto none but the 
aristocracy and clergy had a right to be covered 
in the presence of the king.” * 
“J have heard it,” said Cerutti. 


tions of the deputies of the Commons, received 


“ The instruc- 


from their electors, certainly require them to give 
no preference to the others as to ceremony or eti- 
quette; however, it required a Mirabeau to make 
the beginning. But, see! the nobles are approach- 
ing! Quite a democratic line is drawn between 
the black of the commoners and the tinsel of the 
aristocracy.” 

The one hundred and fifty delegates of the no- 
bility now appeared, while the cries of the people, 
“ Long live the Third Estate!” had not yet ceased. 
As soon, however, as the next section of the pro- 
cession came up, an ominous silence ensued. They 
also wore black coats with vests of gilt cloth, 
laces, and costly embroideries, colored silk mantles, 
and brilliant badges. What most characterized 
them was the turned-up hat, 4 la Henri IV., with 
white plumes, and which they fancied made a pro- 
found impression. 

“What a swarm of marquises, counts, viscounts, 
barons, marshals, generals, and presidents!” said 
Chamfort, glancing along the shining ranks. “And 
whom do we see at the head of the aristocracy in 
all his glory? Louis Philippe Joseph de Bour- 
bon, Duke d’Orleans, the delegate from Crespy in 
Valois, the first imitator of the British, who has 





* Toulongeon, “Histoire de France depuis la Révo- 
lution de 1789,” vol. i., p. 22. 


190 


studied liberty in the London clubs, and become 
puspected at court. He prefers to appear in the 
midst of his colleagues, although his proper place 
is among the princes, who come last. This con- 
duct of the former Duke de Chartres surprises me 
—it is one of the wonders of the times.” 

‘These words were almost inaudible in the shouts 
of the people. ‘‘ Long live Orleans!” resounded 
on all sides, at which the prince smiled. 

“The duke seems as pleased with popular lib- 
erty as if it were a new vice he had discovered 
in his Palais-Royal!” said Chamfort. 


shudder at the experiment of this prince of orgies. 


“T really 


I become suspicious when I think of him as a con- 
vert to the freedom of France. And the populace 
rejoice over him ! Well, let them ; if they believe 
in him, he may be made useful; the people, after 
all, have true instincts.” 

“They have already been benefited by him,” 
replied Cerutti. “‘ The Duke d’Orleans is the cause 
of the double representation of the Third Estate. 
I can assure you that this is the principal article 
of the secret union between the duke and Necker. 
Besides, can you name any other man, either at 
court or among the nobility, who has been as ac- 
tive as this prince in alleviating the sufferings of 
the poor? He has not confined his good deeds to 
Paris, where whole parishes live and are clothed 
by him—he cares as a father for all those who are 
unfortunate on his property. Through the hands 
of his officials he distributes among them wheat, 
wood, and wine, and all who address him find 
hint accessible. He yielded to the importunities 
of Necker in becoming a deputy for the aristoc- 
racy. Iam quite surprised, my friend, at such 
narrow-minded judgment of your neighbor in the 
Palais-Royal. How does it happen that the phi- 
losopher Chamfort measures with a common rule 
a man who, drawn into dissipation by the influ- 
ence of the times and his rank, suddenly feels him- 
self born for something higher, and -endeavors to 
release himself from his degradation ? ” 

“This is the first time that any one ever inti- 
mated to me that I am a fool on account of my 
austere virtue,” said Chamfort, with a good-natured 


smile. “ Both the duke and Necker are enemies 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


of the queen. My dear abbé, if a revolution take 
place in France, it will be to his wife’s enemies 
that the good Louis XVI. will owe it. But if 
Orleans and Necker are secretly allied, what fol- 
lows ?” 

“That you would deserve the thanks of the 
whole nation,” replied Cerutti, “if you would in- 
They would 
receive him with open arms; this you may con- 


duce Mirabeau to join these two. 


sider, by the way, as an authentic invitation.” 

“T think I understand you,” said the philoso- 
pher, “but you must know that I am too indo- 
lent for a mediator. But now comes your Estate, 
abbé, the clergy, with their decorations.” 

The ecclesiastical members appeared, bearing 
at their head the host. They were arranged ac- 
cording to rank: the bishops in their violet-colored 
robes of ceremony, separated from the inferior 
clergy in their large cloaks and four-cornered 
caps. The king and queen accompanied the con- 
secrated wafer, borne by the Archbishop of Paris 
under a splendid canopy, the cords being held by 
the Counts de Provence and @’ Artois, on one side, 
and on the other by the Dukes d’Angouléme and 
Berri. 

The king, walking pale but calm, was hailed 
with renewed shouts of applause, which seemed to 
make an unexpected impression on him. But no 
voice was heard for the queen—no word of love or 
admiration, such as Marie Antoinette was for- 
merly accustomed to on her public appearance. 
She felt the meaning of this silence, and deter- 
mining not to receive what she considered a per- 
sonal attack without some sort of resentment, she 
suppressed her emotion, and acted as she had 
done before on similar occasions—she stared at 
her enemies in a contemptuous manner, and, so 
far as she could, manifested her hatred and de- 
fiance of them. Suddenly, however, she grew 
pale, and seemed to be fainting. The Princess 
de Lajnballe, who was nearest the queen, endeav- 
ored to sustain her mistress. For a moment there 
was danger that the procession would be inter- 
rupted, but Marie Antoinette regained her self- 
control and walked on. 

The queen’s trouble on this occasion originated 


~ 


THE PROCESSION OF 


chiefly from the conduct of several women, who 
They 
made grimaces at her and uttered the most hate- 


tried to have themselves noticed by her. 


ful expressions, crying, with gestures that could 
not be misunderstood: “ Long live the Duke 
d’Orleans! The family d’Orleans forever!” The 
queen’s eyes chanced to meet those of the Duch- 
ess d’Orleans, and she felt deeply wounded by the 
triumphant malice that shone in them. 

All the members of the court closed this re- 


markable procession, dazzling the spectators by | 


their costumes, radiant with gold and precious 
stones. 

Chamfort sprang from his chess-table, saying to 
the Abbé Cerutti: ‘‘ Now, my friend, let us fol- 
low quickly, that we may arrive early at the 
church of St. Louis, and take the seats reserved 
for us. If we go through yonder street, we shall 
be in advance of the king and the Estates.” 

The friends attempted to push their way 
through the crowds, which they found at first 
rather difficult. 


tended to take, they were forced to stop, being 


At the cross-street they in- 


pressed against a balcony, on which many well- 
dressed ladies were seated. 

“We are fortunate,” said Chamfort, glancing 
at the ladies. “Is not that the daughter of 
Necker, Madame de Staél-Holstein; and the one 
near her, Madame de Montmorin? They are en- 
gaged in rather loud conversation, and if we can 
excuse ourselves for becoming eavesdroppers we 
can hear every word.” 

“T know no day of my life on which I have 
been so happy,” said the daughter of Necker, her 
“Tt is a sub- 


The people and the king have 


eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. 
lime spectacle ! 
embraced, and are about to pray together—to 
take an oath of union for the regeneration of the 
fatherland—is not that a scene for tears of joy?” 

“She always expresses herself in that manner,” 
“Tn her book 
on Jean Jacques Rousseau I find too many ejacu- 


whispered Chamfort to his friend. 


lations, that make me half smile and half frown, 
and I am not sure whether the fair authoress de- 
serves a kiss or a reprimand. M. Necker’s open- 
ing address to-morrow is sure to contain a few 


THE THREE ESTATES. 191 


ideas from his intellectual and adored daughter. 
He is said to be entirely under her control.” 

“Let us listen to Madame de Montmorin,” re- 
plied the abbé, silencing him. “ She is reproach- 
ing Madame de Staél for her too great exulta- 
tion.” 

“JT pray you,” said Madame de Montmorin, 
“how can you attach such joyful expectations to 
this day? You are wrong, for the greatest mis- 
ery to France and ourselves will be the con- 
sequence.” * Madame de Staél trembled at these 
words. She seized the hands of her friend, and 
burst into tears. 

Chamfort and Cerutti were driven farther on 
by the crowd, and heard no more. The music of 
the procession sounded in the distance; and the 


their speed. 

The three Estates were seated on the benches 
in the nave of the church. The king and queen, 
surrounded by their suites, took their places 
under a violet velvet canopy, strewed with golden 
lilies. 


turbed ; and Louis XVI., who was otherwise un- 


Marie Antoinette looked pale and dis- 


embarrassed, seemed concerned for his consort, 
and turned constantly toward her. 

Chamfort and Cerutti were on one of the 
platforms, where seats had been reserved for 
spectators. ‘We shall see every thing plainly 
from here,” said the former,” and I begin to ap- 
preciate the value of connections in this world, 
for without your intercourse with Minister Necker 
we would not have had such good places. I am 
anxious to see all the solemnities, for I have 
promised a report of them to our friend Mirabeau, 
which he intends to make use of in the journal he 
is editing about the sessions of the Estates of the 
kingdom. He thinks that the hero of our age 
must also wield the pen, in order to reach the 
heart of this century. I can look directly into 
the queen’s fair countenance, and read the traces 
of a secret grief, which belongs to history.” 





* Madame de Montmorin was afterward involved 
in the events of the revolution, and ended her life on 
the scaffold.—Vide Madame de Staél, “* Considérations 





sur la Révolution frangaise,”’ p. 187. 


friends, anxious to reach the church, increased  , 


192 COUNT MIRABEAU. 


“She really looks as if she suffered,” replied 
the abbé. “She has long feared this day, and 
struggled against it. Her misunderstanding with 
France showed itself to-day; and, I apprehend, 
sadly against her. If her opinion had been fol- 
lowed by the state council, the assembling of the 
Estates would have taken place sixty miles dis- 
tant from the capital, and she would scarcely 
have been aware of that which has cast such 
gloom over her heart. But Necker’s idea pre- 
vailed, and I think it is creditable in the minister 
to have this parade here at Versailles, demonstrat- 
ing that he does not wish to avoid seeing the del- 
egates of all classes brought into the presence of 
the people, and having some notion of their life 
and hopes. This confidence will redound to M. 
Necker’s favor.” 

“But you cannot deny the accurate foreboding 
of the queen,” replied Chamfort. ‘“ Great storms 
are coming, and her fair locks will be tossed into 
some disorder.” 

The aisles of the old cathedral now resounded 


with the hymn O salutaris hostia. Soon after, 


the Bishop de Nancy, M. de la Farre, ascended 
the pulpit, to deliver the sermon, which many 
waited for with great expectation. The courtiers 
scarcely trusted their ears when the pious ecclesi- 
astic, in a noble address, spoke of the luxury and 
despotism of courts, the duties of monarchs, and 
the rights of the people. The congregation were so 
moved that they could not restrain their applause 
—a gross infringement of propriety, which disturb- 
ed especially the attendants of their majesties ; for 
even at the theatre the presence of the king sup- 
pressed all such noisy demonstrations.* 

Louis XVI. remained unmoved. His eyes did 
not turn from the countenance of the queen, 
which changed from a marble pallor to a deep 
red. As soon, however, as the concluding cere- 
mony was performed, the royal party disappeared. 
The congregation then assumed a different ap- 
pearance. The delegates left their places, where 
each class was separated from the other. The 
members of one rank greeted those of another; 





* Mirabeau, ‘‘ Journal des Etats-Généraux,” no. i. 


the deputies of the aristocracy, however, in many 
‘instances, endeavored to leave at the same time 
with their majesties, only few of them remaining 
to converse with the clergy and the Third Estate. 

In the centre of the edifice were several groups 
holding animated conversations. Chamfort and 
Cerutti approached to greet Mirabeau. He re- 
ceived them in a hearty manner, but was soon 
withdrawn from them by others. He was talking 
warmly with the clergy, among whom were seyv- 
eral personally known to him, and whose ac- 
quaintance he wished to renew. This was es- 
pecially his object in reference to Talleyrand-Pé- 
rigord, who had lately been raised to the dignity 
of Bishop of Autun, from which city he was dele- 
gated. While this admirable man was an abbé, 
Mirabeau lived in intimacy with him. Subse- 
quently they met almost as strangers; Talleyrand 
did not care to meet his former friend, and was 
evidently shunning him now. 

Mirabeau had noticed the bishop’s manceuvres 
for some time, and without further ceremony ap- 
proached him, shaking his hand in a hearty man- 
ner, regardless of his reluctance, and saying : 
“On a day such as this, when the nation is re- 
born, let us renew our friendship, Talleyrand-Pé- 
rigord! Is it possible that that miserable book - 
on the Prussian court, for the publication of which 
I am in no wise to blame, should really have sep- 
arated us?” 

Talleyrand, with a grace that always character- 
ized him, scarcely returned the count’s salutation, 
and yet, with a polite smile on his grave counte- 
nance, he replied: “Is this a time to think of 
books? Books may be forgotten, but true friends 
never, And now we all need the assistance we 
can get, as the convocation of the Estates of the 
kingdom proves. The government calls upon us 
to aid it, and we must stand by each other as well 
as by the state. Thus you see we are reconciled, 
Count Mirabeau !” 

“If you really mean what you say, it signifies 
success to the assembly,” replied the count. ‘‘ The 
Third Estate, which I represent, would gladly 
unite with the clergy to effect certain objects. 





| The excellent sermon of the Bishop of Naney 


- 


THE PROCESSION OF THE THREE ESTATES. 


gave us hopes for such a union. What M. de la 
Farre said from the pulpit about the wickedness 
of courts and the rights of the people, challenges 
the commoners to form a defensive and offensive 
alliance with the ecclesiastics. I see you still 
believe that I had that unfortunate book printed 
against your advice and express desire.” 

“Why, my dear count,” said Talleyrand, in a 
satirical tone, “it is a very pretty book, and you 
have eulogized me as one of the most hopeful 
men of the period. However, it appeared at a 
very unfavorable moment for the government, for 
Prince Henry of Prussia was in Paris, whom you 
Because I 
am acquainted with the prince, and it was be- 


criticised in so offensive a manner. 


lieved by many that I suggested your mission to 
Prussia, the work appeared to me contemptible 
at the time.* However, now we are standing to- 


gether on the floor of the new assembly, my old 


friend! The Third Estate and the clergy will 
certainly have to unite, although I am not in such 
ecstasy as you are about the discourse of my 
venerable colleague the Bishop of Nancy! But 
you were always favorable to those of my cloth 
in spite of your vagaries. I will tell you what 
did not please me in his address. It was intend- 
ed to act in exciting the applause of the audi- 
tors, which was a grave violation of etiquette, 
and I was sorry to see it originating from a dis- 
tinguished member of the clerical order. What 
I think I can 
You mean to say that the 
first attack at the forms of ccremony came from 


is etiquette? You smile, count. 
read your thoughts. 


the queen, and that therefore we must not be 
surprised if the fire she kindled burn below as 
well as above.” 

The countenance of the Bishop of Autun be- 
trayed his irony, which he usually concealed by 
an appearance of thoughtful gravity, seldom per- 
mitiing himself to look as he felt. He expected 
to provoke a smile from Mirabeau also; but to 
Talleyrand’s surprise, the count remained very 
serious, and remarked: “I confess that the queen 


made me sympathize with her to-day, and I have 





* “ Correspondance entre le Comte de Mirabeau et le 
Comte de la Marck,” vol. i., p. 344. 


18 


193 


asked myself whether the most lovely woman in 
France was destined to become the most misera- 
ble? Perhaps I was affected by her beauty, that 
never before seemed to me so pure and perfect. 
You know I have a democratic head, but an aris- 
tocratic heart. With you, it is the contrary: you 
are a democrat at heart, while your intellect bows 
to the lords of the earth. That is why we were 
inclined to quarrel in our former political debates. 
We were alike only in one thing—in having cred- 
itors.” 

“We begin a new life, if it is God’s will, with 
the General Assembly,” said the Bishop of Autun, 
piously folding his hands. “It is often good to 
have creditors—we gain believers thereby; for 
one who trusts and runs after us, we can soon 
lead to what is good. But I notice here are other 
good friends, with whom I should like to gossip a 
little.” 

The approaching group constituted Chamfort, 
Cerutti, and a third gentleman in clerical dress, 
recognized by Mirabeau as the Abbé Siéyes, who 

\was a small, compact man, having a strong will 
impressed on every feature; but his manner was 
reserved. Mirabeau met this gentleman with 
lively greetings, exclaiming: ‘“ All honor to the 
Paris elections, which send us such a man as 
Count Siéyes! You are the only ecclesiastic 
representing the Third Estate, and that is a good 
omen.” 

Siéyes returned the compliment in a friendly 
manner, adding: “Can there be a better repre- 
sentative of the commoners than a clergyman? 
If he is nota man of the people, he is a hypo- 
crite. There can be neither state nor church 
without him.” 

“ And our Siéyes has become the oracle of the 
commoners,” said the Abbé Cerutti, tapping the 
other on the shoulder, “His pamphlet ‘What 
is the Third Estate?’ is the oriflamme of the 
It has pointed out 
It has given the people self- 
knowledge, which is as a sort of sacrament.” 

“That is not so bad, Cerutti,” said Siéyes, in 
his laconic way. 


present movement in France. 
the right way. 


“ But if you speak of my tract, 





here is the man to whom I owe every thing—not 


194 


only the general idea, but many of the most im- 
portant passages.” He looked at Chamfort, 
standing near, who started when he heard him- 
self thus referred to. 

“Our friend blushes like a young maiden,” 
said Mirabeau, laughing. “I once said of him 
that he somehow provides serpents’ eggs, and 
gets eagles to hatch them.” 

“T find that you are all too generous,” replied 
Chamfort. ‘“ You give more credit than is due me.’ 

“No,” said Mirabeau ; “you are a little lazy, it 
is true, or you might have been elected to the 
General Assembly—and I do not indeed see how 
we can get along without your correct judgment.” 

“The spectators’ seats must also be filled, if 
good acting is to be on the stage,” replied Cham- 
fort. ‘‘ With the pamphlet of the Abbé Siéyes I 
only played the part of a good audience, nothing 
more. He explained his ideas to me, and I gave 
them a good dress, which he mistakes for new 
thought and information. A hero becomes such 
chiefly through the acclamations of the people, and 
I, my dear friends, wish to remain one of them— 





COUNT MIRABEAU? 


I may be useful in that way; certainly, in no 
other!” 

All laughed at the modesty of Chamfort, but 
Siéyes said, while his dark eyes brightened: “He 
is right. I was thinking of the same thing to-day. 
Perhaps I do not belong here either, and ought 
to have remained at home in my quiet ,study, 
talking to my books or composing music; for 
nothing, except. Mirabeau’s eloquence, can be of 
avail.” 

“Do you still compose music?” asked Talley- 
rand, who had been conversing with General La- 
fayette. ‘*Your pamphlet, Siéyes, on the Third 
Estate, is a sort of opera, in which wind instru- 
ments play a considerable part. But you belong 
to the cloth, abbé, why not compose a few peace 
hymns ?” 

“T am not a general composer, bishop,” replied 
Siéyes, dryly. 

The bells of St. Louis, which had been ringing 
since the close of the ceremonies, ceased with a 
sound like a sigh, and the deputies departed to 
the carriages awaiting them at the gates. 





THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 





CHAPTER XXX. 
THE FIFTH OF MAY. 


Tue opening of the General Assembly was to 
be at the palace of Versailles, on the 5th of May. 
Mirabeau had hired, contrary to his custom, very 
plain apartments in the house of a citizen of the 
place, a dyer by trade, and a very excitable poli- 
tician, They stood together in the small garden, 
where breakfast had been served. The dyer him- 
self waited on his high-born lodger, who, in addi- 
tion, appeared to him in all the glory of a repre- 
sentative of the people. The host very naturally 
took this opportunity of entering into conversa- 
tion with his guest, and endeavored to gain some 
information on the important questions of the 
day. The count, however, showed little patience 
with this inquisitive citizen, often looking at his 
watch, to see how near the hour was which would 
call him to the castle. It was only six o’clock, 

and the carriage was ordered to be at the door 
half an hour after, 

“You have asked me enough about liberty, 
equality, human rights, and popular sovereignty, 
Master Camille,” said Mirabeau, ‘“ Let us look a 
little at your roses. You know how to cultivate 
(them; they are arrayed in a beautiful morning 
toilet, and the dew from heayen shines upon 
them as diamonds,” 

“ No, count, I have other things in my head 
than foolish flowers,” replied the burgher, walk- 





ing restlessly up and down, and then standing as 


if lost in anxious thought. “Every one is talk- 


‘| ing of popular sovereignty—some even speak of 


a ‘revolution ’—a curious word lately come into 
fashion, we hardly know how. I went not long 
ago to Paris, and took a cup of coffee in the Rue 
St. Nicaise, where the diligence sturts for Ver- 
sailles. All the people there were so well in- 
formed that I was quite ashamed of my igno- 
rance, One man spoke of a ‘Contrat Social,’ and 
looked as solemn as a priest administering the 
sacrament, so that I edged myself shyly into a 
corner, and listened with great attention. Anoth- 
er read some paragraphs from a periodical, the 
title of which was very cheering; for it was said 
to be printed at the house of the ‘ Widow Liber- 
ty,’ and could be procured at the store of ‘the 
revolution.’ Now, tell me, count, what is the 
meaning of the word ‘ revolution,’ and what kind 
of business the widow carries on.” 

“You are a dyer as well as a florist, Master 
Camille,” said Mirabeau, smiling. “ If the color 
of a stuff fades, and the material is still good, 
would you despair of giving it another shade? 
No, you begin to work. You first wash it thor- 
oughly, beat, rub, and shake it, and then you im- 
merse it in the new dye, which gives the piece a 
fresh appearance. Well, you have made a ‘ revolu- 
tion,’ for you have turned gray into black, yellow 
into green, white into red, and I know not what 
other changes you may have wrought. With your 
sweet roses you manifest yourself even more like 


196 


a creator. You infuse life into a sickly species 
from the strength contained in another, or you 
mix the several kinds of seed, and a new and 
beautiful blossom is the result, probably different 
from any you may have seen before. Here again 
you have made a ‘revolution.’ As you do with 
your flowers, we shall have to do with the differ- 
ent ranks and classes of men. The question of 
new and living forms of life from a degenerate or 
dead past in society will probably be debated to- 
day, or at farthest to-morrow. For both the court 
and the ministry are mistaken if they think that 
at our meetings we intend to recognize social 
The Three Estates must be united as the 
essential elements of the nation; the commoners 


will see to that, and Mirabeau will lead the way! 


grades. 


Such action you may denominate as you please— 
in your horticulture you are engaged in it every 
day, accepting the hints given you, employing 
your reason, as it is so meant to be exercised ; and, 
while gratifying your own intelligence, you are 
permitted to clothe nature with new beauty.” 

Camille clapped his hands at this explanation, 
while the count paced the little garden with im- 
' patient steps, and then sent his servant to hasten 
the carriage. 

“When I am restless about any thing, some 
obstacle usually occurs,” said Mirabeau to himself. 
“T ought to have brought Henriette and Coco 
with me; their faces always have a tranquillizing 
influence on me. Well, this is a great day, and 
we shall see what are its results!”” The coach 
at last arrived. 

An early hour had been appointed for the as- 
sembling of the Estates, so as to have time for all 
the forms of ceremony, which the ministry wished 
particularly to be observed. It was intended also 
to prepare a humiliation for the deputies of the 
Commons, 

A large and beautiful hall in the palace of Ver- 
sailles had been considered as proper to receive 
the twelve hundred, as well as a numerous audi- 
ence, and it was accordingly fitted up for that pur- 
pose. Louis XVI., who was an amateur in such 
things, engaged himself in the decorations. It had 
long been a cherished fancy of his to adorn in the 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


most brilliant manner the place where he was to 
He had selected 
the tapestries and curtains, and superintended all 


meet the General Assembly. 


the arrangements. 

When Mirabeau arrived, he was not admitted 
as the gentlemen belonging to the aristocracy and 
clergy, who came at the same time. The latter 
entered by the principal gate, but the deputies of 
the commoners were taken to a back-door leading 
through a eoach-house—then through a dark cor- 
ridor, where they waited until allowed to pass in. 

“This is a worthy antechamber for the dele- 
gates of the nation!” said Mirabeau to his neigh- 
bor the Abbé Siéyes, whom he recognized, after 
they had knocked against each other in the closely- 
packed crowd. The government desires us first 
to loosen our teeth before we appear before them. 
The question: ‘What is the Third Estate?’ our 
Siéyes answered by: ‘It is every thing!’ but 
the ministry replies to-day: ‘It is a certain some- 
thing that is permitted to enter, by a back-door 
and through a carriage-house, into an Egyptian 
darkness, reminding it of its obscurity.’ But no, 
gentlemen, we shall hold up our heads notwith- 
standing, and confound our opponents by the good 
order in which we march to the attack!” 

“T think we are treated like children who are 
shut up in the dark at Christmas before they get 
the presents intended for them,” said Siéyes. “Ié 
is therefore better to receive no gifts; for the 
liberty that comes as such is hardly considered 
a right. I propose that we accept nothing, after 
we have entered (which I hope will be soon), but 
that we take what belongs to us. All that we ob- 
tain must be the trophies of right over wrong— 
else they are of little value.” 

“Gentlemen, we may almost fancy that the go- 
vernment are playing hide-and-seek with us!” 
cried a shrill voice, belonging to a young lawyer 
from Arras, named Maximilian Robespierre. 
“They hope to find us in this corner where they 
have driven us, but that game will not do—we 
shall soon be everywhere, and the ministry may 
They think 
they have caged a mouse, but when the doors 
open they will see a lion,” 


not so easily lay their hands on us. 


THE FIFTH OF MAY. 


“But they shall not recognize us as traders, at 
least, with whom a bargain may be made,” said 


Mirabeau. “This is like one of the passages of 


the Exchange, where people throng to await the” 


opening of business.* In these swindling days 
the government folks expect perhaps a loan from 
us ; but it must be well paid for—so many francs 
for you, so many rights for the people, is my 
motto.” 

In such conversations the deputies sought to 
pass the time. It was two hours before they were 
released from their prison by a sign from the head 
master of ceremonies, Marquis de Brézé, and per- 
mitted to enter the hall. 

Mirabeau was at first charmed with the display 
before him. The Salle des Menus, which had 
been prepared for the reception of the deputies, 
contained two rows of Ionic columns, giving it a 
The light fell from 
above through an immense oval window, under 


sort of cathedral appearance, 


which was an expanse of white silk to dim the 
sun’s rays. At one end was the throne, the arm- 
chair for the queen, the tabourets for the prin- 
cesses, and the rest of the royal family, and above 
all was spread a canopy adorned with fringes of 
gold. Below was the estrade for the ministers 
On the right of the throne 
the clergy were to be seated; on the left, the aris- 
tocracy, and, in front, the deputies of the Third 
Estate. 

The Marquis de Brézé aided by two other mas- 


and state secretaries. 


ters of ceremcenies, marshalled the delegates to 
their seats according to their districts. When 
the Duke d’Orleans appeared among the represent- 
atives from Crespy, there was great commotion 
among the spectators, occupying places arranged 
in the style of an amphitheatre; their applause 
was not suppressed, but even joined in by many 
of the deputies, when they saw the prince invite 
a fat ecclesiastic, who was walking behind, to 
take precedence. Among the state ministers 
taking their places, only one appeared in plain 
citizen’s dress, appearing as if the event about to 
take place were but some every-day business 





* Mirabeau, “ Journal des Etats-Généraux,” no. ii. 





197 


affair or a drawing-room entertainment. As soon 
as he was seen there were indications of respect 
from all sides. Necker expressed his appreciation 
with a smile, that brightened for a moment his 
grave and furrowed face. 

The deputation from Provence now passed; in 
their midst arose the tall and powerful form of 
Count Mirabeau. Several persons;in a distant 
portion of the hall, began to clap their hands, to 
show their admiration for a man whose name was 
becoming a household word in France, and of 
whom such impossible things were said. He was 
raising his head more proudly, as if conscious of 
his popularity, when he started as if stung by. 
a serpent; for he heard loud cries of disapproba- 
tion, silencing those who would show themselves 
his friends. Mirabeau, conscious of his strength, 
folded his arms, and cast a lightning glance in the 
direction whence the sounds of displeasure came. 
Silence ensued, while he took his place with com- 
manding dignity.* 

Soon after, the king entered, followed by the 
The whole 
assembly rose with exclamations of joy. Mira- 
beau gave the signal to the Third Estate, but they 
did net bend the knee, as it had been their duty 
when the Estates last met. 


ueen, the princes and princesses, 
? 


On the present oc- 
casion, any demonstration of that kind would have 
been ridiculous in view of the change which had 
taken place in public opinion, and the new con- 
dition of affairs. 

Louis XVI. wore the large royal ermine mantle, 
and a plumed hat, the bow of which was radiant 
He 
seemed at first to be pleased, and deeply moved 
at his reception ; but, when he had opportunity to 
contemplate the stern and manly faces of the 
commons opposite, he trembled. Mirabeau notic- 


with diamonds of extraordinary value. 


ing his confusion, and, smiling at his costly decora- 
tions, said in a voice heard by many beyond 
those near him: “ Voild la victime !”+ 





* Madame de Staél, ‘* Considérations sur la Révolu- 
tion frangaise,” vol. i., p. 172; Montigny, vol. vi., 
Pp. 35. 

t “Behold the victim!*? Weber, who was present, 
reports this expression of Mirabeau.—'t Mémoires,” 
vol. i., p. 335. 


198 


The person sitting beside the count was Bar- 
nave, a young landed proprietor from Dauphiny, 
who was especially remarkable by his man- 
ner at the appearance of fine, court. He replied: 
‘Until now the people were the victim, and were 
not so well adorned. The sacrifice in the ermine 
will be more acceptable than that in a blouse! 
But how simple is the queen’s toilet! Never has 
she been seen in so plain and modest a costume. 
She will have to be more sumptuously dressed on 
the day when crowned heads fall, and she seems 
to feel something of this in anticipation, for she is 
pale as death!” 

“She looks more beautiful than ever!” said 
Mirabeau, in a lower voice, as she took her place 
near the throne. 3 

Louis XVI., taking off his hat, began his well- 
conned address. His voice was clearer arid more 
melodious than it usually was when excited. His 
style, always natural and unstudied, could not but 
make a favorable impression on all unprejudiced 
hearers. Yet the temper of the assembly was 
rather irritated, because the king spoke first of 
finances, wishing to have it understood that the 
representatives of the nation were convoked for 
no other purpose than to secure the state rev- 
enues. In concluding he called himself the best 
friend of his subjects, and reiterated his love for 
France. 

The speech was succeeded by applause, as the 
king resumed his seat, and put on his hat. All 
the members of the aristocracy did the same, and 
Mirabeau also covered his head, several of those 
nearest him following his example, while others 
were not pleased with this violation of etiquette. 
Soon loud cries were heard. ‘Put on your hats!” 
“Take of your hats!” Scarcely, however, had 
Louis XVI. understood the cause of the commo- 
tion than he removed his hat, all in the assembly 
imitating bim.* 

“The discourse of the king,” said Mirabeau to 
the gentleman sitting at his right (the Abbé 
Sigyes), “sounded to me as a love-poem, and I 
have no doubt he has a great regard for the peo- 





* Duchez, “* Histoire 'de l' Assemblée constituente,” 
Pp. 262. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


ple; but it must be disagreeable to the object of 
his adoration when a lover begins to talk of his 
debts, and how they are to be paid—his affection 
looks like avarice—he is a heartless speculator, 
debasing all tender sentiment. He ought at least 
to have left us to the illusion of political liberty, 
and avoided money matters altogether.” 

“The Estates have been convoked to discover 
the sincerity of the king’s love for the nation,” re- 
“The seal-keeper, M. de 
Barentin, and M. Necker, will soon change the 


plied Siéyes, sternly. 


royal lyric into matters of hard fact.” 

M. Barentin began his speech in a weak voice, 
and an utterance that could hardly be understood, 
although he was bold in his assertions, insisting 
that his majesty desired the universal happiness 
of the nation, which he wished to reconstruct on 
the basis of popular liberty. Then he referred to 
the treasury and the taxes, but embodied his re- 
marks so skilfully with political reform, that if he 
had been better heard, he would have made a 
considerable impression on his audience. 

Necker rose to explain the state of thedinances. 
Great attention was paid him, amid an almost 
All exvected to hear of the 
regeneration of France in terms clear and decisive. 


breathless silence. 


He commenced with much dignity, using noble 
language, but his hearers were astonished when, 
instead of comprehensive ideas, such as they ex- 
pected, the information given consisted of dry sta- 
tistics, artfully arranged in the most favorable light 
possible. He dissected the gigantic subject of the 
national deficit with the self-possession of a sur- 
geon, lightly remarking that it was only fifty-six 
millions, and decidedly rejected the idea of state 
bankruptcy, enumerating the resources whence 
the government could obtain means, and become 
reéstablished in its credit. It was well understood 
what he meant when he said that the king might 
have forborne to convoke the representatives of 
the nation, and easily have obviated every diffi- 
culty without them, if he had chosen to do so. 
Necker treated all embarrassments in this depart- 
ment as trifling matters, promising to remove them 
in a short time, and in such a manner, that pay- 
ments would be easily made, loans refused, interest 


THE FIFTH OF MAY. 


reduced, and capital, now lying useless, brought 
into the treasury, thus increasing the wealth of 
the nation. At length, he touched aquestion the 
most interesting to the minds of the assembly, and 
in which lay the inflammable ideas of revolution. 
Continuing with artful ease and apparent indiffer- 
ence, he reminded the assembly that they consisted 
of the aristocracy, clergy, and commons, as estates ; 
that they probably would not remain thus separ- 
ated, but unite as one in their deliberations for the 
general good. 

The court and the ministry had hitherto avoided 
this point. It was Necker only who referred to 
it, adding, in careful words, that occasions might 
arise when it would be preferable to take counsel 
separately, as, again, in some cases, a union of all 
He touched this 
dangerous matter very timidly, but unwilling or 
unable to retain it, he threw it into the midst of 
- the assembly, expecting, from the generosity of the 


might be considered desirable. 


first two Estates, that their discussion would ren- 
der the subject harmless, and to secure their favor 
he closed by overwhelming the aristocracy and 
clergy with flattery. 

When Necker had spoken almost two hours, 
the assembly adjourned in great excitement, con- 
fusion, and ill-feeling. The nobles expressed 
themselves very unfavorably of the ministry. 
They were displeased at their own presence, be- 
cause Necker had just told them that, so far as 
the financial affairs of the state were concerned, it 
was by no means necessary to convoke the Estates. 
Since he promised to restore the revenues in the 
apace of eight months, they asked each other, in 
surprise and irritation, why they had been drawn 
into this position, and why the scandal of such an 
assembly had not rather been avoided ? 

Mirabeau and Lafayette met at the door of the 
hall, and greeted each other with more friendliness 
than was usual, considering their mutual dislike. 
“Well, count,” asked the general, shaking his 
hands, “ how did youlike the benches of the Third 
Estates?” 

“Very well,” replied Mirabeau, “we were at 
least safe from the eulogies inflicted on your class 
by such a man as Necker, And you, my American 








‘We were not much hurt by Necker’s attack,” 
said Lafayette; “his praises are harmless.” 

“‘Tt was a worthless and deceitful speech, to my 
mind, designed as an ensnaring one,” cried Mira- 
beau, inanger. “If he wished to speak of finan- 
ces only, he ought to have remembered the in- 
alienable right of such an assembly to vote the 
amount and kind of taxes, particularly as the king 
has awarded this right to his subjects for more 
He must hold this first step toward 
liberty, or we stumble at the beginning. And 


than a year! 


not a word was said about a constitution for 
France! In place of it a wretched coquetry with 
the privileged classes. He ought to have taken 
it as a matter of course that we are a single na- 
tional body—a unit that cannot be separated, but, 
instead of that, he aimed at producing contention 
If weall act as the 


court desire us, I suppose M. Necker will pat us 


in the most offensive manner. 


on the shoulder, and call us his dear provincial 
assembly. He is a wise man, and yet he does not 
perceive that old things are passing away, that the 
people can no longer be ruled by means of cabals 
and intrigues, and that he who would swim against 
the stream of public opinion must inevitably be 
carried off!” * 
“The wisest people are often obtuse, and many 
do not discern ihat they now live in a new epoch,” 
said Lafayette. 
see that you still have too good an opinion of a 


“Farewell, Count Mirabeau! I 
royal minister. I think the future looks gloomy. 
Affairs have come to such a pass, that what we 
call evil, will be/the best thing that can happen. 
We shall see what turn matters will take to-mor- 
row. We shall have to try the validity of the 
elections, and then know whether the privileged 
classes will permit that in full session, or insist on 
their right of separate deliberation. To-morrow, 
count!” 


They separated. Mirabeau was sad and hast- 





/ 

* Mirabean,‘ Journal des Ktats-Généraux,” no. xiii. 
This number was the first that was entitled ‘“ Lettres 
du Comte de Mirabeau 4 ses commettans,”’ because the 
Court of Censure disputed his right to edit a journal. 


200 


ened to his carriage. He met several friends 
awaiting him, whom he had not seen for some 
time, and in their merry mood he felt some gur- 
prise that they did not share his own painful and 
irritated feelings. 
“Welcome, Etienne Claviére!” said the count ; 
“and Dumont and Duroyeray! I recognized the 
trio of Genevans among the spectators in the hall, 
But tell me why you are all laughing? Is there 
any thing about me ridiculous, or are you in good 
humor at the opening session of our assembly ? 
Perhaps you were pleased to see that I was al- 
most turned out again, before I had made my en- 
trance? I suppose you heard the hisses ? ” 
“They added to the comicality of the assem- 
bly,” said Claviére. 
such a flock of vultures perch with so much §0- 


“ Was it not amusing to see 


lemnity on the dying body of the monarchy. In- 
stead of beginning their banquet they seemed as 
if bandying compliments with the king, courtiers, 
and ministers, who will certainly become their 
prey ? Among them all you are the only earnest 
and lion-hearted man, and yet you have been in- 
sulted, only because you are not like them! 
Well, how do affairs look, since you have entered 
the Estates of his most Christian majesty, the 
King of France ?” 

“You know, Claviére, that our paths are not 
quite the same, since this movement commenced ! 
You are steering in a dangerous vessel toward re- 
publicanism, and madly invoking the tempest, 
while I adore the star of a constitutional mon- 
archy. You cannot interfere with me, however, 
and I do not the less regard you and your com- 
patriots, and wish not to lose your friendship.” 

It was proposed to take a walk to Trianon, as 
the dinner-hour had not yet come, and in the park 
at that place they would have opportunity for 
confidential conversation, which the Genevans 
seemed greatly to desire. The sunny May day 
persuaded the count to accompany them. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


THE WALK TO TRIANON. 


MiraBeav and his friends passed through the 
park of Versailles on their way to Trianon. The 
populace moved in crowds through the paths and 
groves of the garden, looking at the marble stat- 
ues, and making bolder remarks than formerly on 
the fountains, gods, tritons, and dolphins, sport- 
ing with the water in various fantastic shapes, in 
celebration of the Estates of the kingdom. 
Among the people were many of the deputies, 
especially from the Commons, who, with provin- 
cial inquisitiveness, never were wearied with the 
curiosities about them, and the world-renowned 
magnificence of the palace. Mirabeau and his 
party left the principal avenue, as the presence 
of the multitude did not agree with his irritable 
mind. 

“You are amused at the inauguration of the 
session ; but you are wrong, if you think meanly 
of it!” began the count, after a pause, during 
which the friends walked silently side by side. “ Do 
you know what influence it has exerted on me? 
I feel already as if the park and castle of Ver- 
sailles and all belonging to them were old-fash- 
ioned. Has the new era really dawned? Yes, I 
believe so! And all these ornaments—these 
fountains with their gods; the verdant couches ; 
the vases with their garlands; the marbled fan- 
cies of Proserpine and Pluto, of Apollo and Venus, 
and all: these splendid memories of a once ac- 
tual life in love and war, in poetry and science— 
seem to me to lose their value, as a worn-out 
wardrobe of the old French monareby. Hence- 
forth there will be an ancien régime in France. I 
feel it in every step I take! But the crown of 
France will survive !” 

“You are and always were an enthusiast, 
“We practical 
men cannot quite follow you, for we are not apt 


count,” said Etienne Dumont. 


to deceive ourselves about the questions of the 
day. 
stored-—certainly not by a National Assembly. 


A decayed monarchy can never be re 


Weare anxious about the aetion of the deputies, 


THE WALK TO TRIANON. 


and on that account we intend to remain a few 
months in this city; we hope that the result of 
your deliberations will not be a new royal gov- 
ernment, but new institutions for all Europe.” 

Dumont was a man of middle age, of insignifi- 
cant appearance, but who, on better acquaintance, 
made known his decision and energy. He was 
formerly a clergyman in Geneva, having been 
forced to leave his home in consequence of the 
revolution of 1782, when the aristocracy pre- 
vailed: against this party he had been one of the 
most zealous opponents. He had since lived in 
London among people of influence, and came to 
Paris to make Mirabeau’s acquaintance, the latter 
having a great reputation among the refugees in 
the British capital. 

** What a terrible republican my gentle Dumont 
is!” said the count, placing his arm in that of his 
friend. “ At first sight one might fancy you still 
‘the peaceful pastor; for your ecclesiastic appear- 
ance is I think as inalienable as the French mon- 
archy—eren your revolutionary freaks partake 
It is sad 
that at this moment so many intimate friends 


of the solemnity of your profession. 


part. Chamfort, who, it is true, is not a country- 
man of yours, for several weeks has been so ex- 
cited that he imbibes nothing but the strong 
drink of republicanism, and my principle of roy- 
alty appears to him like buttermilk. I am ready 
to fight like a gladiator in order to change your 
opinions.” 

Duroveray was amusing himself in knocking 
with his walking-cane the mythological statues 
they passed on the way. He struck a Jupiter so 
hard a blow that the image sounded. “ Old 
Jove does not seem to like such a salutation,” 
said Duroveray, a tall man, of quite imposing 
presence. He was formerly general-procurator 
of the Republic of Geneva, and forced to leave in 
1782. Mirabeau had made his acquaintance in 
London, and was pleased with his quiet conduct, 
characterized as it was by great efficiency in the 
interests of the democracy. 

“Do you think of attacking Jupiter Olympus 
with only a walking-cane, Duroveray?” asked 
Mirabeau, smiling. 





201 


** Yes,” replied Duroveray, “all that is neces. 
sary is a very common stick to make sad work 
with the follies of the past. The gods will assur- 
edly fall from their pedestals; Etienne Claviére 
will become financial minister of France, and 
Count Riquetti de Mirabeau may assume the office 
of minister of foreign affairs, or be sent as am- 
bassador to Constantinople, where he may have a 
harem, and study the best forms of monarchy.” 

“‘How did you know my favorite wish ?” asked 
the count, laughing aloud. “The position of 
ambassador to Constantinople is really what I 
most desire. You may say more on that subject, 
for if you give me either of those enviable places, 
I will desert the National Assembly, Versailles, 
Jupiter, Louis XVI., Venus, and Marie Antoi- 
nette.” : 

“But I must ask you to be silent about my fu- 
ture dignity,” said Claviére, placing his finger on 
his lips. “ For the present incumbent M. Necker 
might hear of it, and we require his assistance for 
our cause in Geneva, at which we are laboring 
under his superintendence. Dumont and Durove- 
ray have daily audiences with the minister, and’ 
owe their presence in France to this political in- 
trigue.” 

“Can any thing be done with a Necker?” 
asked Mirabeau, with a contemptuous gesture. 

“You know,” replied Claviére, ardently, while 
they stood a moment, “that in this blessed year 
1789, in which liberty began to make ker claims 
in your land, our beautiful Geneva commenced a 
new revolution, but it is not satisfactory—there 
is too much hurry. The popular party were sat- 
isfied in regaining some of the privileges they lost 
in 1782, but the aristocracy have seeured too 
rouch, and will obtain possession of all. Besides, 
the little republic can only have real liberty when 
released from the chains cast areund it by 
France and the other guaranteeing powers, with- 
out whose consent and approval there can be no 
new constitutional laws. Our friends hope to be 
so relieved by Necker’s aid, and we shall soon see 
whether he is that friend of the people which he 
is said to be.” 


“Dumont has worked ouf a new constitution 


202 


for Geneva, aided by his fellow-refugees in Eng- 
land. You see, Mirabeau, the watch-making re- 
public intends to profit by you Frenchmen; but, 
on the other hand, she will be enabled to advise 
and be useful to you during your coming revolu- 
tion; for if men like Dumont and Duroveray are 
only spectators of the Estates of this kingdom, 
their presence is a gain for all.” * 

The count and his friends continued their walk, 
and reached the extremity of the park of Ver- 
sailles, beholding in the distance the palace of 
Great Trianon, which Louis XIV. built for Ma- 
dame de Maintenon, with its colonnade of green 
and red marble. Mirabeau looked grave and sad. 

“You owe us a confession,” said Dumont, in 
his usual quiet manner. “It seems to me that 
in your heart you are much of our opinion, be- 
lieving the assembly contains not the best mate- 
rial, and that you will find it a difficult place for 
the exercise of your genius.” 

* You say that, because they hissed me on my 
entrance!”’ said Mirabeau, anger and sorrow 
“That could only 
have originated with a few wretches who fear 


rising in his countenance. 


my strength, and are endeavoring early to under- 
mine my position. Ihave no doubt, when I have 
once spoken, that they will follow my path; but 
envy and jealousy are already active against any 
one that might distinguish himself, and this makes 
me sorrowful, It is a foolish malignity against 
talent that brought out those serpent voices to- 
day. What have I done? 


the aristocracy pretend to find me objectionable 


My enemies among 
on account of my past life! Those privileged 
gentlemen intend to excuse their hatred in the fact 
that I was obliged to struggle with my own fa- 
ther for liberty and honor; that I abducted sev- 
eral women; that I made many debts; that I 
have been an inmate of innumerable dungeons ; 
that I have produced much scandal, as in truth 
Are they 
The difference between us is, 


almost every man of the world does. 
better than I? 
that they successfully hid their immorality, and, 


by an unmanly obsequiousness, remained at court, 





* Etienne Dumont (de Genéve), ‘‘ Souvenirs sur Mir- 
abeau” (Paris), pp. 3, 4. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


while I rushed unthinkingly into vice, because its 
publicity did not for a moment concern me, 

“Those men would wish to eject me from an 
assembly into which they have entered unwil- 
lingly, and to which they add no glory, either in 
name or morals, while my honor shall become 
that of the nation. They intend to attack the 
validity of my elections at Aix and Marseilles, 
contending that I exerted undue influence. O 
the fools, who are so hardened in their selfishness 
that they cannot understand how a man can be 
His 
voice indicated emotion, and his friends saw that 
his eyes were tearful.* 

“T do not comprehend how you can be so sur- 


devoted to the people for their own sake!” 


prised and excited by this, Mirabeau,” said Du- 
mont, in his straightforward manner. “A man 
who has acted independently, as you have, giving 
his thought freedom wherever he found it right 
or agreeable, may expect umbrage from some 
quarter ; how can he hope for sympathy from his 
enemies? Do you think that your Journal des 
Etats-Générauz, which you are publishing, and in 
which you censure the assembly collectively and 
individually, will propitiate the aristocracy? You 
sprinkle pepper into the wounds you formerly 
gave them, and you are astonished that they do 
not consider it a balsam! 
but not sad. 

“Tf you had always lived in a republic, you 


You may be angry, 


would know how to let each party have its way ; 
so much the sooner comes the hour when you can 
break it down, because it has developed itself, 
and you have facts to work with. Have patience 
Those men, shallow in genius and morality, who 
are now resisting you, will creep into the shade . 
and the dust, as soon as you have given your own 
strength fair play. At the same time you must 
remember that you can only rise by means of the 
assembly ; you cannot enter a career of fame, but 
by them—that is certain, Mirabeau ! 

“You are now acting in the most considerable 
theatre in the world—you may be its master- 
spirit; but you must not stand in your own light. 





* Dumont, ‘‘ Souvenirs sur Mirabeau,” p. 48. 


THE WALK TO TRIANON. 


What, then, are the little annoyances of to-day in 
view of the great future? But we think you 
must work on a new plan! First of all, you 
must not be precipitate, but wait for a special 
and important occasion, where only you can say 
what is just and decisive, and where you will carry 
all before you! Then you must avoid a too bit- 
ter tone in your journal, and even condescend to 
praise some of the deputies, representing the as- 
sembly as a dignified body. We, the Genevan 
republicans, thus advise you; if you follow our 
counsel you work for us all, and may the glory of 
the just shine for ever on your brow!” * 

“Very good!” exclaimed Claviére, while Mira- 
beau and Dumont shook hands. 
has spoken well and truly, but he could not avoid 
his old clerical custom of evoking Heaven’s bless- 
ing, and I cannot help saying, Amen!” 

The count was consoled, and said: “I may 
have but few virtues, but that I have a heart 
formed for friendship, no one can dispute. Your 
words, Dumont, are as morning dew, and you may 
be certain that I will follow your advice.” 

“Shall we go to Great Trianon or Little Tri- 
anon?” asked Claviére, as they were standing 
where the road separated, leading to the two cele- 
brated palaces. 

“‘T think we intended to visit the latter,” said 
Mirabeau, taking the direction of that beautiful 
pavilion, and followed by the rest. 

“ Ah,” said Claviére, “our friend longs to lose 
himself in the pastoral dwelling of the lovely 
queen. Yes, we noticed how your eyes, during 
the entire session, were turned toward Marie An- 
toinette, who sat opposite you like a pale Mag- 
dalen. What is to become of you? If you 
should really fall in love with the queen, the rev- 
olution may rest,so far as you are concerned. 
You will probably play the part of Rinaldo in the 
enchanted garden of Armida.” 

“This enchanted garden,” said the count, point- 
ing toward the one surrounding the little palace, 
“is very prettily laid out in the English style, 
according to the taste of Marie Antoinette, in- 





* Dumont, ‘‘ Souvenirs,” p. 49. 


“Our friend: 





203 


dicating thus an amiable and natural mind, but 
no romance. I am aware that you Genevans are 
prejudiced against this princess, and are every- 
where exciting the minds of people against her. 
Is it a part of your system to make the first at- 
tack against the most charming woman in the 
world?” * 

“ Mirabeau,” said Claviére, raising his finger in 
a playfully-threatening manner, “it is evident that 
you are ensnared in these walks! You are sur- 
prised because we act against the queen. Well, 
she is the most vulnerable point of attack in the 
French monarchy. A good general moves against 
that fortress least able to resist. Marie Antoi- 
nette places herself before the throne of France, 
and contemptuously looks down upon the peo- 
ple, so that whatever hurts her must disturb the 
security of her husband. And how is it possible 
for you to think her so beautiful? The Roman 
nose and the Austrian lip struggle for preémi- 
nence; her eyes are humid, and her beauty is 
undeniably that of an insipid and proud woman, 
having hardly any intellect whatever. Her com- 
plexion is good, to be sure, but that does not con- 
stitute beauty.” 

“You are always an ill-natured scoffer,” replied 
Mirabeau. “ You wish to induce me to deny 
beauty itself where it really exists. If you allow 
the British ministry to pay you for entering the 
field against a woman, our roads must soon 
part!” + 

“Mirabeau is angry!” laughed Claviére, turn- 
ing to Dumont and Duroveray, who had each 
taken an arm of the count, and sought to pacify 
him. 

The friends approached the palace, with its 
Corinthian pillars. They went into the garden, 
thrown open to the public on this day, as the 
In the different 


paths they met many of the deputies. The count 


queen remained at Versailles. 





* Soulavie, vol. vi., p. 17. 

t It was well known that Claviére, Dumont, and Du- 
roveray, were paid by the British government to assist 
in overthrowing the French monarchy. This conduct 
was thus sanctioned on account of the influence of 
France during the American struggle for liberty.—Sou- 
lavie, vol. v., p. 296. 


204 


and his friends could not entirely avoid conversa- 
tion with some of them, answering their ques- 
tions, particularly addressed to Mirabeau, and 
which demanded much explanation, as the in- 
quirers were generally from the most distant 
provinces of France, and were ignorant of almost 
all they saw and heard around them. Among 
these people were the wine-merchant Bernard 
Valentin, from Bordeaux, and the farmer Choisy, 
from Chalons-sur-Marne, who, like most of the 
delegates, had taken up their quarters in the 
houses of small citizens at Versailles, and heard 
incredible things about the court, the royal fam- 
ily, and the various palaces. 

“Where are the notorious petits appartements, 
Count Mirabeau ?” asked Bernard Valentin, look- 
ing back at Little Trianon with uneasy glances. 
“Ts it true that traces are still found of the ban- 
quets given there by Louis XV.? Is there really 
a cabinet where spots of blood are yet seen that 
could never be erased ?” 

“And Queen Marie Antoinette, does she do 
such wicked things here as we have heard?” 
asked Choisy, not less excitedly, looking anx- 
iously around. ‘Iwas told that she sleeps in 

the same bed in which Madame Dubarry slept, 

and that is scarcely proper for an honorable 

queen.” * 

“ And is it true,” again began Valentin, with 
much solicitude, ‘‘ that the queen walks about at 
night on the terrace of Trianon, while her husband 
retires at eleven, and knows nothing of his ram- 
bling wife? She is said to associate freely with all 
sorts of persons, and lately sat half the night with 
a young clerk under a tree. Is this true?” 

“ And is the queen really so extravagant,” asked 
Choisy, “ that she knows nething of housekeep- 
ing, and wears diamond buttons on her night- 
gowns? How can we be surprised that the finan- 
ces of France are in a bad condition ?—and I hope 

we shall speak on that subject at our next session.” 
~ «Thave heard,” said the wine-merchant, “ that 
this palace is also called ‘ Little Vienna’ or ‘ Little 


Schénbrunn,’ and that an Austrian bureau is con- 


COUNT MIRABEAU. 


cealed in a cellar of the castle, where the object 
of the business conducted is to sell France to the 
house of Hapsburg.” 

Claviére and his friends rubbed their hands and 
laughed, while Mirabeau stood a moment gravely 
shaking his head. Then he said: ‘‘ My dear col- 
leagues! What we hear from our hosts at Ver- 
sailles we must be careful not to carry into poli- 
tics. We have been elected as representatives of 
the people, that we may act freely and intelli- 
gently. I am lodging with a very worthy dyer, 
who wishes tomake me believe that our good king 
is a drunkard, and consumes daily enormous quan- 
tities of wine.* But every one ought to know that 
Louis XVI. is the most abstemious man in his 
kingdom. If all your customers were as sober, 
M. Bernard Valentin, you would soon close your 
store. 

“Tt is the same with the suspicions against the 
queen. Does this innocent Trianon look like a 
place for orgies? Can you imagine any lewd se- 
This English garden, with its 
sweet flowers, is her favorite resort. 


crecy about it ? 
Here she 
often walks with her children without ostentation, 
and in the plainest dress ; or seats herself on some 
bank, sewing or embroidering, as one of your own 
The domestic life Marie An- 
toinette leads here ought to prove to you that she 


wives might do. 


has lost all taste for the extravagances of Ver- 
sailles, preferring simple pastoral pleasures to the 
splendors of a court. It is impossible for any one 
to live in a purer or more undisguised manner 
than the king and queen in this place. 

“Marie Antoinette is not only beautiful, but 
benevolent, my friends and colleagues. Those 
twelve cottages, distributed so picturesquely on 
the heights behind the park, indicate that: They 
were built by her order for poor and unfortunate 
families, who there find all that is necessary for 
them. This palace is an asylum for misery and a 
temple of mercy; and yet the queen’s enemies 
wish to maké it appear as a theatre of vice, such 
It may be that the 
queen is not highly intellectual, and that her edu- 


as shocks the imagination. 





* Campan, vol.i., p. 210. 





* Campan, vol. ii, p. 4 


THE WALK TO TRIANON. 


cation in some respects has been neglected; it is 
also probable that she knows little of literature, 
aside from a few romances; but she is a true 
woman, and when we have improved the mon- 
archy (which I believe to be the real object of our 
assembly) you will see her in her glory!” 

The two deputies cordially shook hands with 
Mirabeau, thanking him for his satisfactory infor- 
mation, and continued their pilgrimage of discov- 
ery through the park. The count proposed to his 
friends that they return, as the dinner-hour was 
near. aii ‘ 

“You have well instructed your colleagues, 
Mirabeau,” said Claviére, as they were taking the 
“But what is 


to become of Louis XVI, if you infuse your love 


shortest route back to Versailles. 


for the queen into all the rest of the deputies from 
the Commons? The king is said to have again 
become very jealous, and will repent having 
doubled the number of representatives of the 
Third Estate, if they are destined to become six 
That would be 


the most dangerous side of the revolution, and his 


hundred lovers of his fair wife. 


majesty would rather send youall to Africa, while 
he made a constitution to his own taste, or gave 
you a fragment of the English one, which you so 
much admire!” 

“Listen to me!” said Mirabeau, impressively. 
“T always acknowledge your merit, and what we 
owe you and your friends for your activity in 
introducing the present state of affairs. Your 
country-seat in Suréne, where we passed so many 
important hours, will always be called the cradle 
of the revolution. The double representation of 
the Commons, the manner of their election, the 
decisions by the number of voters, and not accord- 
ing to rank, the abolition of privileges,—all these 
points were thoroughly debated at your villa, and 
referred with a strong will to the people.* 

“The secret meetings at your house, as well as 
those at the mansion of the noble Duke de Roche- 
foucauld, were so efficient that that history would 
be unjust which would omit to mention them, or 


impress their value on the public mind. I have 


205 


most cause to remember Suréne, because there I 
saw for the last time our unforgotten Holbach.* 
You, Claviére, knew how to bring those men over 
to your own opinion, but perhaps you may lose 
me. Let us make a resolution that we remain 
friends, even if we are the antipodes of each 
other in some political views. For such I am 
afraid will be the case! I must adhere to the 
task I have set myself. I desire democracy, but 
restrained by the monarchy ! I fear, dear Gene- 
vans, that we shall soon be separated. You have 
become members of the * Club des Enragés’ at the 
Palais-Royal, and there I cannot enter. I shall 
without doubt become excited, be assured of that, 
and when I have broken the assembly to my 
will, I will use it as my Pegasus of the revolu- 
tion. The only difference between us is, that I 
Let us 
shake hands as a sign of our superiority to any 


know what my object is, and you do not. 


grovelling feeling of malice or anger.” 

“Our friend Mirabeau is in a sentimental hu- 
mor to-day!” exclaimed Claviére. ‘Come, let 
us assure him by our strong republican support, 
and hope that he may regain his former daring ! ” 
They surrounded the count in a laughing and jest- 
ing humor. 

“He is a man around -whom we can take a 
walk,” continued Clavitre. “It is easy to see 
that he was intended for the Hercules of the rev- 
olution. On his broad back he could carry an 
entire state, if he would only take it up.—Mira- 
beau, without you, we cannot advance; we must 
therefore associate ourselves with your destiny, 
come what may!” 

Amid such conversation the friends reached 
Versailles. In front of the Hotel Charost, the 
count noticed a travelling-carriage, from which 
descended a tall, slender lady, followed by a maid 
and a footman. He looked after her with sur- 
prise. Her face was not seen, but he recognized 
her well-known walk, and it instantly occurred to 
him that she was his former wife. For a moment 
he stood gazing in perplexity, and then came to a 
decision, knowing he could not be mistaken as to 





* Dumont, “ Souvenirs,’ p. 82. 








* Holbach died on the 2ist of January, 1789. 


206 


the identity of the lady who had entered the ho- 
tel, and could not doubt as to the motives that 
induced her now to take up her residence at Ver- 
sailles. He also remembered that his sister, from 
whom he had received a letter a few days before, 
had plainly intimated to him the intention of the 
‘countess, which was nothing less than if possible 
to force herself upon him, in order to plead for a 
reunion ; or, if unsuccessful, at least to be near 
him, and admire his conduct in the important 
business to he transacted by the assembly, 

The count had forgotten the information sent 
him by his sister, thinking it frivolous and be- 
neath his notice; but he saw now how Emilie, 
contrary to her usual temper, was importunate in 
her desire to reconcile the difficulties between 
them, and that more than ordinary caution would 
be necessary to elude her. 

“You seem to bein doubt about our dinner, 
Mirabeau !” said Claviére, shaking the count, as 
if to rouse him from sleep. “ Every thing in the 
Hotel Charost is good, and you need have no fear 
in that respect. The proprietor keeps the best 
table in this city, or we would not have honored 
him with our patronage.” 

“T am really hesitating whether I am to ac- 
“ The 
pleasure of being in your society made me quite 


company you or not,” said Mirabeau. 


forget a promise I made yesterday to my honor- 
able host, the dyer in the Avenue of St. Cloud, I 
must dine with him to-day, and I believe he has 
cooked a whole ox to entertain me and some 
other deputies, cousins of his. Such invitations 
must be honored nowadays, according to your 
own principles. Excuse me, therefore, andI wish 
you a good appetite. Adieu!” He left in great 
haste, while his friends looked after him, sur- 
prised to see him turn the nearest corner so pre- 


cipitately that it might almost be termed a flight. 





COUNT MIRABEAUD. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


THE MARQUIS VICTOR RIQUETTI DE MIRABEAU. 


A FEw leagues from Paris is situated the village 
of Argenteuil, with its pretty residences, always 
sought after during the summer months by the 
Parisians, as well as by many foreigners of rank. 
In one of these the Marquis de Mirabeau had 
lately established himself, drawn by the events of 
the day from the solitude of his estates, where he 
had lived for many years. Bowed by age and 
disease, he would not take up his abode in the 
capital itself, where, since the opening of the Na- 
tional Assembly, threatening commotions became 
daily more frequent. The peaceful villa at Ar- 
genteuil, on a pleasant hill near the public road, 
afforded him the double advantage of hearing the _ 
news immediately, and of promoting his health 
in the quiet of country life. 

The marquis sat in an easy-chair at an open 
window, giving him a view for a great distance of 
the highway, for this was his favorite place dur- 
ing most of the day. His eyes wandered in the 
direction of Paris with an expression of restless- 


ness. It could not be that he was expecting the 


‘newsman, who brought the journals from the cap- 


ital; for the grand-daughter of the marquis, the 
fair Marchioness d’Arragon, had already read 
every item to him ; but he still sat at the window 
with the same look of anticipation, apparently 
waiting for some person whose name never passed 
his lips. 

Helena d’Arragon, the oldest daughter of the 
Marchioness de Saillant, had always been the fa- 
vorite of her grandfather, who induced her to 
make his house her home after the early death 
of her husband, whom she had married in her 
sixteenth year. This was contrary to the wishes 
of Madame de Pailly, who ruled the family of the 
marquis since his separation from his consort, and 
who was the cause of tae misunderstanding be- 
The childlike amiabil- 


ity of Helena was however such, that she soon 


tween husband and wife. 


conquered the jealousy of the elderly lady, and 
the household arrangements of the marquis were 


~ 


THE. MARQUIS VICTOR RIQUETTI DE MIRABEAU. 


greatly improved by the presence of this lovely 
young woman, who took her share in amusing 
the old gentleman. | 

Madame de Pailly attended to the physical con- 
dition of the sufferer. : 
could not be dispensed with, as the marquis, who 


She knew that her services 


had reached his seventy-second year a few days be- 
fore, suffered greatly from gout, and latterly from 
a violent catarrh that at times completely pros- 
trated him. His tall and once powerful frame 
was daily more bent and shrunken, and had al- 
most lost the carriage that formerly characterized 
him, giving place to the tremor and weakness of 
age. On the other hand, his pale and grave 
countenance, which betrayed the indefatigable 
thinker, bore traces of that beauty which was his 
in the bloom of manhood. 

The cheerful Helena undertook the task of 
participating in her grandfather’s occupations, 
and was the companion of his thoughts on the 
exciting topics of the times. She had become so 
necessary to him, on account of her sound and 
appropriate ideas, her good-humor, and her art 
of brightening the future, that he would under- 
take nothing without her. He could not make 
up his mind as to any question, if she did not sit 
opposite him on her little tabouret, or stand at 
his side, and point with her small white hand to 
a passage she had just read, and which she 
thought of sufficient importance to recite to him. 
The marquis was accustomed to speak frankly to 
his grand-daughter, revealing almost all his mind, 
but he obstinately persisted in concealing from 
her whom he was hoping to see on the road from 
Paris to Argenteuil, and for whom he anxiously 
waited from day to day. 

“Ts he not coming yet, grandfather?” asked 
Helena, one day, after she had read the leading 
articles in several journals, and, finding them un- 
interesting, thrown them on the table in the 
middle of the drawing-room. 

‘““Whom are we expecting, my child?” said the 
marquis, startled, and withdrawing his head from 
the window. , 

“T mean the news concerning the two parties 
in Paris,” replied Helena, looking down with an 





207 


arch smile. “ Will the decision about them never 
arrive, dear grandpapa?” 

“The question is whether an accommodation 
between the conflicting factions is desirable,” said 
the marquis. ‘The papers of to-day show that 
the great struggle between the king and the Na- 
tional Assembly has not advanced one step since 
the opening session. The Three Estates neither 
deliberate separately nor unite in one body, and it 
appears as if the court and ministry aid in this 
inactivity, the sooner and easier to break the web 
the assembly has woven around the royalists.” 

“But that would be extremely wrong, grand- 
papa!’ replied Helena, warmly. ‘ You and I are 
much interested in the sessions. You have two 
sons there, who are of course both my uncles; 
and as we women take every thing personally, I 
call the aristocratic party ‘Uncle Boniface,’ and 
the national party ‘ Uncle Gabriel.’ But I have 
no doubt you still incline to the former, and are 
expecting to see Viscount Mirabeau every day 
riding up the road, for he has not been to visit 
you for several weeks.” 

“T am not looking for the viscount,” said the 
marquis, with sudden impetuosity. “You know 
he sent me lately a speech he intended to deliver 
in the assembly, and I returned it with a mar- 
ginal remark, which no doubt vexed the vain boy, 
for since then he has not made his appearance at 
Argenteuil. Besides, I must confess, that I do 
not care much whether he comes or not. His ~ 
discourse against the union of the Three Estates 
contained foolish words, and wholly unsuitable to 
a thinking nobleman of the present day.” 

“ Yes, I remember, your criticism was not very 
gracious, grandfather !” exclaimed Helena, laugh- 
ing. “You wrote very laconically: ‘If I were 
you, and had a brother among the deputies such 
as yours, I would hold my tongue, and let that 
brother speak.’ ” * 

“Did I really write that, Helena?” asked the 
marquis, some irritation marking his stern coun- 
tenance. ‘You repeat those words as if you 
thought I had suddenly taken a fancy to my elder 





* Montigny, vol. viii., p. 8. 


208 


son, Count Mirabeau. But suchis not the case, 
although I wish to do him justice, and—I think I 
have always been just toward him, even when 
obliged to prove it by my severity.” 

“Oh no, grandpapa,” said Helena, with the 
confidence of a favorite. ‘“ According to what I 
have heard in our own family, and, in fact, what 
is said in all France, you have been very unjust 
to your son Gabriel. I was quite a child, scarcely 
six years old, when you imprisoned him in the 
Chateau @’If; if I had been a little older, I would 
have lectured you well for maltreating a son like 
_ that—a man of such greatness of will and ge- 
nius. I would have told you that only an Attila 

in private life would have acted so unnaturally.” 
‘The marquis trembled, but not in anger, for a 
shadow of melancholy and remorse passed over 
his features. He leaned his silvered head upon 
his hand, and was silent. Presently he looked 
out again upon the road, where a cloud of dust 
announced the approach of a horseman. 

“Tt is not he!” exclaimed Helena, half ban- 
teringly, half sadly, approaching the window. 

“Of whom are you talking?” replied the old 
gentleman, somewhat moved, 

“JT do not know, dear grandpapa,” she an- 
swered, with indifference, standing behind his 
chair, and placing her soft hands upon his shoul- 
ders, “But if just now I ventured to say harsh 
things, it was only in reference to what happened 
long ago, and we have less and less to do with 
the past, as we are told in the papers every day, 
and as we hear from the orators. Grandpapa, the 
sun is shining on your head—and there is one 
whom you never loved who returns to you the 
glory of your name. He is yet worthy of your 
affection. Let me kiss the light beaming on your 
brow.” She bent over the old man, pressing a 
long and tender kiss on his forehead. 

“How do you know that I have changed my 
mind?” asked the marquis, after a pause, resum- 
ing his haughty dignity. 

‘“‘Ah, my dear grandfather,” cried Helena, tri- 
umphantly, “I can bring you many proofs. I 
might remind you of last month—the 24th of 
June, after the session at Versailles, when M. 


\ 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


Comps, secretary to Count Mirabeau, arrived here 
with a report of the proceedings from your son. 
After I read it to you, and some passages two or 
three times, you sent for young Comps, to give 
him your message to his master; but you could 
no longer restrain yourself, and burst into tears. 
‘Young man,’ you said, seizing his arm, ‘tell the 
count, “this is true renown!”’ and then you 
motioned him to leave, for you were so agitated 
that you could speak no more.” * 

“Oh,” said the marquis, raising his head proudly, 
“those words had no reference to my son Gabriel ; 
though I cannot deny that his heroic manner in 
the assembly really pleased me. I have always 
been impartial to him, and will remain so. At 
the opening of the sessions he showed himself as 
the man for the exigency, when the interests of 
rank and an ambiguous ministry resisted what 
the representatives were attempting to do. I 
should like to have heard his thunder against the 
separation of the deputies of the different Estates, 
to try the validity of the elections. . It was a just 
idea, for he immediately excluded the subtlety of 
Necker’s ministry. by reference to his mercenary 
duties. The financial minister thinks he can re- 
form the country by giving it a pinch of snuff, 
but Count Mirabeau soon showed him his mis- 
take. Indeed, I wish I had heard his utterance 
of the words, ‘ Va, bangue/’? He must have 
shaken the marrow in Necker’s bones. 

“My lion-hearted son also exerted his influence 
that the Third Estate, holding themselves aloof 
from the aristocracy and clergy, should constitute 
themselves the real assembly of national repre- 
sentatives. It is true, that shrewd Abbé Siédyes, 
whom I greatly esteem, first proposed this, but it 
is owing to the count that the measure was carried 
through. It was my son again who presented for 
consideration that the delegates in session should 
be called the representatives of the French nation, 
saying, with a courage spurning all concealment, 
that the only object of the convocation was the 
organization of a government of the people and 
the throne. ; 





* Montigny, vol. iv., p. 130. 





itl 

He | vit 
ee 
i 
a 


uN} 
Sy), 

















MIRABEAU IN THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. p. 209. 


THE MARQUIS VICTOR RIQUETTI DE MIRABEAU. 


‘The Third Estate took the title of National 
Assembly during the memorable session on the 
16th of June, and all France rejoiced. Count 
Mirabeau, by his indefatigable activity, had won to 
his side almost a majority of the ecclesiastics, when 
Louis XVI, urged by the intriguers of his court, 
held that unfortunate royal session imwhich he 


dared to command the Estates to meet separately, 


and not as a whole, wherein: the nation’ ‘might see 
its own unity.. On the previous, day, however, 


the deputies of the Third Estate, at the- instiga- 


tion of my son, assembled in the ballroom, and 


took an oath, not to adjourn the assembly, or 
permit others to do so, until they completed a 


new constitution for France; the next day they 


renewed this oath.at the altar in the oe of 
St. Louis.” 


“ After the foolish. king had issued bis: declara- 
tion, and, with the aristocracy and a portion of 


the clergy, left. the. hall, the, rest remained as a 
firmly-united body... And were there ever grander 
words than those from the lips of Count Mirabeau, 
hurling defiance into the teeth ofthe Marquis de 
Brézé, who was sent by the ministers to-remind 
the members of the royal wish, and request them 
to adjourn.? _ “Read that passage to me once more, 
Helena. I find those immortal ‘words reported 
differently in the various newspapers—the Moni- 
teur, for example, reports them with an omission. 
Bring my son’s letter, for I cannot hear it often 
enough!” - | io. 
Helena, Vaiened to sf, wna her eyes mrigsk ek 
with joy, when she saw how the marquis. was 


absorbed in the fame. of his son» She hastened 
to the desk, and ca the letter to. her. grand- 
father, tpi. irae * . 


“Here it is,” she said, « for it alenvs lies at 
the top. These are the words which. Count Mira- 
beau uttered in a tranquil ‘tone to the frightened 
Marquis de Brézé: ‘The Commons of France have 
resolved to meet. We have heard of the inten- 
tions introduced into the king’s mind; and you, 
sir—who cannot even be his organ in the National 
Assembly, as you have here neither a seat nor a 
vote, nor a right to speak—you are not qualified 
to call to our remembrance his majesty’s speech. 


14 





209 


Go, and tell your master that we are here by the 
will of the people, and that we can be removed 
only by the bayonet !’” 

“Excellent!” exclaimed the old man, rubbing 
his hands, anda slight color. suffusing his sickly 
, Yes, “he. was always remarkable! He 
was. born ugly as a son of the night—he had 
two fully-developed back-teeth, 80 that we were 
all astounded—and he seemed as ‘if. he had. the 


face. 


strength of ‘Hercules even in ‘his cradle.’ He 
fought every day with, his nurse, and she, being. a 
passionate ‘woman; would return’ the blow; but 
she did not always have the advantage, for he 
gave her many a bite.” * 

The marquis began to Jaugh so ‘heartily at 
these. reminiscences. that. his grand-daugliter. was 


| alarmed, and her: apprehensions were’ soon - vreal- 


ized, for he began to cough violently. © 
After he recovered, Helena said, in sat iia. 
ting voice: “If he wasso ugly and: unbearable 
as “a child, that was no .reason why, you should 
hate and persecute him:as ‘a man. Your. other 
son, Uncle Boniface,is»said- to have been so 
handsome formerly. that: all who saw- him .were 
charmed; and now he is. 80 stout. and awkward, 
that he can scarcely move with ‘any grace, and 
has.received ,the nickname of Mirabeau-tonnears, 
He is also addicted: to. wine, and is among the 
worst foes .of his» brother. You see now what 
has become. of your former: favorite, while your 
‘Son’ of Night, as you. called him, has become 
the pride of France, and will add to the honor of 
your name.” ; av, ie 

“N evertheless, I think\I have been just toward 
him !” said the marquis, in a trembling voice. 
“He had no reverence: for. authority, and that 
soon estranged us. A man like myself, who, until 
my fifty-fourth year, neyer. retired at night before 
I had knelt to my old mother to receive her bless- 
ing, could never become a friend of such a lawless 
enthusiast. I certainly used a stout whip, but 
what would have become of him if my chastising 
arm had not restrained him from the abysses into 
which he was ready to fall? The prisons in which 





* Montigny, vol. i., p. 238. 


210 


I confined him preserved him from far greater 
shame, and from a miserable death. But now he 
has entered a career that I must honor. 

“Tf I rightly understand Gabriel’s views, he 
wishes to remedy the wrongs in the state and so- 
ciety, and these have been growing fora long 
time—all men, even of opposite epinions, must 
agree to that. Every thing in France is worn 
out—the soil must be renewed, and the marshes 
drained, before the seeds of happiness can be 
planted. To effect such a revolution, a strong 
nature like Count Mirabeau’s is required. With 
all his power and passion, however, he is temper- 
ate in his demands; and, while his eloquence is 
overwhelming, his reason is right and lawful. He 
is a daring man; he has moved the nation, but he 
will establish it upon asure foundation—a tribune 
of the people, he struggles for royalty as well as 
for them. He is acknowledging that some au- 
thority is*necessary, although in his youth he 
spurned it, while I was obliged to act despotically 
toward him. Should I not love him now, Helena ?” 

“You must, you do love him!” exclaimed the 
young marchioness, ‘And, since you confess it, 
I will tell you whom you are so anxiously expect- 
ing, when you sit at your window looking out upon 
the road to Paris. You daily hope to see your 
son Gabriel—you think he must come and throw 
himself into your arms. You love him now, and 
therefore cannot comprehend his ahsence.” 

“ And why will he not come?” asked the old 
man, sadly. “He writes to me sometimes, but 
avoids my presence.” 

“He will come!” said Helena, smiling confi- 
dently. She again approached the window, and 
long watched the highway. Suddenly turning to 
her grandfather, she said: ‘‘ Yonder, dust rises on 
the road. A horseman is moving rapidly. Can 
it be my uncle the count?—JIt is he!” cried 
The marquis hastily 
closed the window, as if to prepare for this meet- 


Helena, clasping her hands. 


ing with a persecuted son whom he ‘had not seen 
for many a year. 

The rider entered the court-yard,:and in a few 
minutes stood upon the porch. The Marchioness 
d’Arragon went joyfully to meet him, and led him 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


to her grandfather, who, sinking back into his easy- 
chair, was greatly agitated in his surprise and ex- 
citement. 

“Are you very ill, my father?” asked Mira- 
beau, rushing toward the marquis to embrace 
him. 

The old man rose quickly, and looked at his son 
with an indescribable expression. The count be- 
held the tall and reverend form with feelings of 
mingled fear and delight; for he remembered the 
awe with which in his youth he regarded this stern 
parent, expecting to see the same merciless glance 
which had so often condemned him; but, to his 
astonishment, a tender affection was beaming in 
the eye of the marquis, such as he had never seen 
He took his father’s hand and pressed it | 
to his lips. 


before. 


“You look as if you suffered, my father!” 
said the count. “I heard you were ill, and hastened 
to see you to-day, because great movements may 
soon occur in Paris that may prevent me from leav- 
ing again. But I am not told what is the nature 
of your disease.” 

Mirabeau met the eyes of his niece, the Mar- 
chioness d’Arragon, who, standing behind her 
grandfather, gave her uncle to understand that he 
must not betray that she had secretly written to 
him. 

“You certainly do not find me in a very good 
condition, my son!” said: the marquis, resuming 
his seat with a sigh, and motioning Mirabeau to 
take a chair opposite. ‘fA man who has the gout 
and a cough is worse off than even France, threat- 
ened with revolution ; for if you, brave gentlemen 
of the Third Estate, disturb the country, it is for 
the purpose of giving it future health. With me 
it is otherwise—my time is past. It is wrong of 
Boniface, who knows well enough how we are 
here, not to give you more exact information ; for, 
since the union of the Three Estates has taken 
place, according to the wish expressed by the 
frightened king, I suppose you hostile brothers 
now see and speak to each other every day?” 

“Yes, we see one another,” said the count, 
evasively. A rather awkward pause ensued, which 
Helena, however, knew how to employ by asking 


THE MARQUIS VICTOR RIQUETTI DE MIRABEAU. 


questions on various’ topics. Among others, why 
her uncle was dressed in such a strange costume, 
in which she had never seen him before. 

“Tt is the uniform of the Third Estate, which I 
represent,” replied Mirabeau. “I suppose that 
my lovely niece does not find this black coat and 
mantle very fascinating? At first, from mere iv- 
difference, I did not wear it; but since the Com- 
mons are fighting for the nation, I adopted this 
dress, that I might be recognized as a soldier of 
the century.” ; 

“You have acted well, my son,” said the mar- 
quis, approvingly, casting a searching glance on 
the count. “Though you may not suspect it, I 
have become a sincere friend of the Third Estate. 
Besides, Gabriel, I think our opinions do not differ 
0 much as perhaps you imagine.” 

“Your approbation will be a triumph for our 
“The 


Ami de homme, as your great philanthropic work 


eause!” exclaimed Mirabeau, ardently. 


is entitled, could not but become our friend; and 
it renders me happy, because you must also, as a 
natural consequence, be the friend of your son.” 

“The friend of my son!” repeated the marquis, 
in a gentler voice than usual. His hands trem- 
bled, and his whole frame was convulsed. Helena 
arose to conceal her tears. 

“My dear son,” resumed the marquis, “it is a 
satisfaction to us both, that we can be reconciled 
Take my hand, if 
only for a farewell; but consider it as a promise 


by the events of the present ! 


for the future, to which, I hope, you are looking 
cheerfully and confidently !” 

“Oh,” replied Mirabeau, holding the hand of 
his father, “ the future is a dark and stormy night 
for France! The worst must occur, and only by 
that means do I hope for good. The king and 
the queen seem to desire evil results; they de- 
spise the signs of the times, and the presentiment 
of their fate, and no advice can reach their rea- 
son.” 

“Ts the situation of affairs bad in Paris?” 
asked the marquis. 

“The court trust to the regiments they have 
marched to the environs of Versailles and the 
capital,” replied the count. “In the error that 





211 


the National Assembly is the cause of mischief, 
troops have been stationed around it, so as to 
prevent the people from having access to the de- 
bates. Not satisfied with that measure, the min- 
istry have increased the military by the presence 
of foreign soldiers, principally Germans and Poles, 
thus intimating what we may expect in certain 
contingencies. 

“The number of troops and the resources of 
war daily increase between Versailles and Paris; 
thirty-five thousand men are there already, and 
twenty thousand more are expected, as well as 
heavy parks of artillery; places have been chosen 
for batteries; the roads, thoroughfares, and 
bridges, are garrisoned; the promenades have 
been turned into military posts. The king sur- 
rounds himself with this power of a despot, oppos- 
ing the assembly as the camp of a foe, while his 
strongest protection lies in the free debates of 
that body. 

“Tn this crisis, we resolved to hand an address 
to Louis XVI., which I was commissioned: to 
write. We conjured the king respectfully, yet 
firmly, to withdraw the troops, and, as neither the 
person nor dignity of his majesty is endangered, 
to discontinue these warlike preparations, which 
are only calculated to destroy confidence. I 
was one of the deputation sent to present this 
petition; but the king was too infatuated to listen 
to us: he went so far, by the advice of his min- 
isters, as to propose that the assembly should re- 
tire to some small city, such as Soissons or Noyou. 
The only laughable circumstance in this affair is, 
that Neeker has been exiled. The ex-minister 
seems to have acted honorably in this instance; 
for he counselled the king against conduct that 
would alienate every mind. And so the financial 
minister was obliged to return to Switzerland in 
such a hurry that he hardly had time to pack up 
his clothes.” 

“ He is no loss,” said the marquis, who listened 
with great attention. “I always found him an 
opponent of my opinions. I was told you had a 
secret interview with him, to endeavor to come to 
an understanding. How did you succeed ?” 

“ My friends Cerutti and Mallouet arranged this 


212 


conference several months ago,” said Mirabeau, 
laughing. ‘We met. I had never spoken to 
Necker, and was curious to know his style and 
behavior. He was stiff and dumb as a board— 
of course, that made me proud and reserved. 
Expecting me to make propositions, he did not 
speak, nor did I; and so we separated after a 
few frigid phrases. However, I think he is not 
an evil-minded man, any more than he is profound 
or original.” 

“‘ Will you thoroughly take up the cause of the 
working-classes ?” asked the marquis, after a 
short pause, during which he seemed to have 
“TJ think the 


time will soon arrive when you will find that we 


been struggling with physical pain. 


old advocates of an agricultural system have long 
since discovered what is best. Attend, my son! 
No state can be free, secure, and happy, that is 
not based on landed possessions, labor, and free 
trade. Make prominent these principles in your 
assembly, and you will deserve the gratitude not 
only of France but of the world.” The venerable 
man would have said more, but his strength was 
exhausted. He sank back pale and faint, and his 
cough began again. His situation appeared so 
critical, that Mirabeau. anxiously inquired who 
was the family physician; but the marquis refused 
medical attendance, and all medicine, save that 
which Helena administered. When he partially 
recovered, the count approached to take leave, 
repeatedly and reverently kissing his father’s 
hand, 

“T must return to Paris and Versailles to-day,” 
said Mirabeau, in a low voice. ‘‘The threatening 
appearance of affairs will not permit any longer 
stay. I will see you soon again, my father!” 

The marquis slowly shook his head, dismissing 
his son silently, but with a look full of meaning. 
The count departed quickly. Helena accompa- 
nied her uncle to the adjoining apartment, and 
weepingly whispered her fears. He endeavored 
to cheer her, and exacted from her the promise 
to send him a report of her grandfather’s health 


on the following day. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 
THE FIRST REPUBLICANS. 


Mirasgav mounted his horse, and rapidly. 


passed over the short distance between Argen- ~~ 


teuil and Paris, whose gates he reached a little 
after mid-day. As he approached he found his 
progress obstructed by an army camping on the 
plain before the capital, only permitting him to 
continue his way slowly and with many interrup- 
tions. Among the noisy troops, he observed 
many of the citizens, moving busily about, and 
conversing with the soldiers in a lively and famil- 
iar manner. They were exchanging pledges of 
friendship in full glasses, and the people were as- 
sured that they would not be fired upon by the 
military. Mirabeau understood that the Parisians 
had not been unsuccessful in shaking the alle- 
giance of the king’s regiments. 

Entering the streets, the count saw to his as- — 
tonishment that the excitement reigning among 
the inhabitants was taking a decided and prac- 
tical form. In several of the thoroughfares bar- 
ricades were building, armed crowds ran about 
shouting, while bitte? abuse of the court, mingled 
with applause for Necker and the Duke d’Or- 
leans, was heard on every side. The farther he 
went the more he became aware that nearly the 
whole population were in the streets. The thea- 
tres were closed, according to the custom during 
periods of public mourning. From the northern 
portions of the city the report had come that 
the barrigres were in ashes. A furious mob, 
gratifying their propensities for outrage and de- 
struction, and whose ragged and starved figures 
marked them as from the lowest depths of 
wretchedness, passed by with howling threats, on 
their way to other scenes of violence. 

Mirabeau wished to go to the Palais-Royal, 
where he expected to discover the origin and 
the leaders of the riots, as well as to see Cham- 
fort, and inquire about the fate of Henriette and 
Coco. While riding down the Rue de Richelieu, 
there passed several divisions of the dragoon regi- 
ment called the Royal-Allemand, headed by their 


= —— ee eee ~ 
' 


—--. eo 


‘THE FIRST REPUBLICANS. 


commander, Prince de Lambesc, on a white 
Mir- 
abeau was obliged to stand at the corner of a 


charger, and preceded by a band of music. 


small street while the soldiers marched by. On 
both sides the crowd expressed themselves very 
insultingly against the dragoons and their leader. 

This regiment of cavalry was composed almost 
wholly of Germans, ignorant of French, who 
neither comprehended the curses hurled at them, 
nor the friendly words by which the citizens at 
first attempted to win them to the popular side. 
A volley of stones was at length discharged upon 
the troops, when, obeying their commander, they 


_ drew their swords, and charged the mob, who, 


with some loss of life, were driven down the 
street: but, though dispersed, they called to each 
This was the first 
time the military acted against the people, and 


other to reunite for vengeance. 


throughout Paris the cry resounded that the resi- 
dents must arm themselves, and form a citizen 
guard! 

- Mirabeau left his horse at a friend’s house, 
and went on foot to the Palais-Royal, the avenues 
to which were besieged by angry men, rushing 
hither and thither, and uttering threats against 
the king and court. The count, however, suc- 
ceeded in forcing his way through, and reaching 
Chamfort’s dwelling in the Arcades. No one was 
at home, and he again found himself in the midst 
of the heaving masses, who bore him into the 
first court-yard of the palace itself, to take pos- 
session of which seemed to be their object. . 


Several times Mirabeau fancied he saw well- 


known faces about him, such as those of Claviére, 
Duroveray, Dumont, and even Chamfort, in that 
great tumult; but, tossed about in every direc- 
tion, they did not recognize him. At last the 


~ eount managed to seize the skirt of Chamfort’s 


coat, and thus make his presence known. 

“There is much to do now, friend Mirabeau,” 
said Chamfort, in a, tranquil and good-natured 
voice, very different from that in which he had 
but a moment before aided in the commotion. 

“But tell me what is the matter?” asked the 
count, “Is it all on account of Necker, whom 


the king sent away in such haste? Have the 





213 


people been inflamed by his disgrace? If so, I 
am also one of his partisans, and cry long life to 
the ex-minister as fervently as this little Savoy- 
ard, who in his enthusiasm has almost broken my 
ribs.” 

“The revolution to-day loves the name of 
Necker, and therefore let us reiterate it in the 
ears of the populace!” replied Chamfort. “ Even 
the name of the Duke d’Orleans sounds well. 
Our friends have resolved, you hear, to ring the 
bells, and they give the first alarm of fire at the 
court.” 

“ And who are our friends ?” asked Mirabeau, 
taking Chamfort’s arm, and allowing himself to 
be dragged into the middle of the crowd. 

“You must not be proud to-day, Mirabeau,” 
replied Chamfort. ‘Our friends are all those go- 
ing the same road with us. We are walking in 
darkness, but toward a light in which we shall 
recognize each other.” 

“ And is that also one of our friends—that pup- 
pet-like fellow, stepping out of the Café de Foy, 
followed by numerous admirers?” asked the 
count, pointing to a young man, at the head of 
a separate crowd, gesticulating in a very excited 
manner. 

“That is Camille Desmoulins, a lawyer; he 
possesses great art in influencing the lower class- 
es,” replied Chamfort. .“‘ He is a good fellow, as 
it seems to me, perhaps a little too inflammatory, 
but he has a ready tongue. He has no education 
whatever, supplying its place by natural oratory, 
persuading the people that if they follow his ad- 
Be- 
sides, he is supposed to be an agent of the Duke 
A table 
is brought, and he is preparing to mount it, with 


vice, they will gain the treasures of India. 
d’Orleans.—See, he is going to speak! 


a dignity peculiarly his own.” 

Camille Desmoulins was a man of twenty-seven 
years, whose complexion was almost as dark as a 
negro’s. His appearance was extremely vulgar, 
and a nervous activity trembled in all his limbs. 
His black eyes rested on the mob until they grad- 
ually became quiet, when he said, in a melodious, 
distinct voice: “Citizens! I have just returned 


from Versailles, and I assure you not a moment 


214 


is to be lost! Necker is dismissed, and that is 
the signal for another St. Bartholomew’s night for 
all patriots! This evening all the Swiss and Ger- 
man battalions will mareh from the Champ de 
Mars to massacre us. We have but one resource 
—to take up arms in self-defence!” — 

These words were echoed with loud applause, 
but accompanied with murmurs. Desmoulins, 
standing on the table, waited the effect of his ad- 
dress, and then he anxiously turned his eyes in a: 
certain direction. Presently, he cried in a loud 
voice: “Behold the spies of the police looking 
in my face; but I shall not fall alive into their 
hands!” 


and, leaping down, placed himself at the head of 


He drew two pistols from his pocket, 
his friends awaiting him. “ Follow my example, 
citizens!” he said. ‘* Come, defend your lives, 
as well as those of your wives and _ chil- 
dren!” . 

With a fearful cry the multitude followed him, 
soon, however, separating into groups, rushing 
along the different streets with shouts of ven- 
geance, and demanding arms. 

At the outlet from the Palais-Royal, Mirabeau 
and Chamfort met Desmoulins, who, as soon as 
he saw the count, approached him with an air of 
great respect. ‘The people express their es- 
teem for Cocnt Mirabeau through me!” cried the 
orator, swinging his pistols in the air, and point- 
ing to the deputy. 
hero of the National Assembly and the friend of 
the people!” | 


“Long live Mirabeau, the 


The count thanked him smilingly, in a few 
friendly words, and only adding in a lower voice: 
“Tt is well to give an impetus to the people, but 
save them from bloody deeds !” 

“Such deeds are necessary, perhaps to-night !” 
replied Desmoulins, with a mysterious air. “ And 
if the people cannot shoot, they can hang their 
foes. The king has cannon; and we, lamp-posis. 
I have long reflected on the best means of arming 
ourselves, and have come to the conclusion that 
the lamp-post is our most effective weapon. Long 
live the lamp-post !—May I visit you at Versailles, 
Citizen Mirabeau ? ” 

The count nodded, but found no time to re- 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


ply, for Desmoulins rushed ‘away with his fol- 
lowers. 

“ Do you not think that such men are very ser- 
viceable?”? asked Chamfort, looking searchingly 
at his friend. 

“They are petrels, telling of the coming storm, 
and rejoicing in its terrors,” replied Mirabeau, 
thoughtfully. 
us, we require experienced helmsmen, and we 
must find them.” 

“And do you think we approach a revolu-' 
tion?” asked Chamfort, with a flashing look. 


“But when the danger is upon 


**Do you not see the clouds gathering over our 
heads ?” said the count, softly. 

A loud report was heard in the vicinity. The 
people were astonished, for a cannon had been 
fired, and some minutes elapsed before they could 
It happened that dur- 
ing the day the sky was dark and lowering, when 


investigate the reason. 


suddenly the July sun burst forth in all his splen- 
dor, and was so reflected, from a mirror at the — 
Palais-Royal, as to fall upon the priming of the 
cannon, and discharge it in this surprising man- 
ner.* 

“The sun is giving the signal for the revolu- 
tion!” said Chamfort, after he and his friend had 
satisfied themselves of the cause. 

* But did not Camille Desmoulins say that the 
cannon was the weapon of kings ?” asked Mira 
beau. 

“But the sun is the weapon of the people,” 
“Wherever 


light appears, it originates with them.” 


replied Chamfort, enthusiastically. 


The count and his friend passed to another out- 
let of the Palais-Royal, leading to the Rue St. 
Honoré; they wished to go toward the Tuileries, 
most of the crowd appearing to move in that di- 
rection. In the first court-yard stood a carriage 
ready harnessed. Multitudes surrounded the 
porch, awaiting, with joyful emotion, the appear- 
ance of the Duke d’Orleans. Just as Mirabeau 
and Chamfort were about to proceed, the duke 
issued from bis palace in haste and apparent con- 


sternation. He was received with exclamations 





* Louis Blanc, “‘ Histoire de la Révolution Fran- 
caise,”’ vol. ii., p. 296. 


~ 


THE FIRST REPUBLICANS. 


of delight, all pressing around him as if seeking 
protection, and at this crisis confiding their well- 
being to his care. He wished to speak to them, 
but could find no suitable words, and it was evi- 
dent that he was violently agitated. When he 
entered his carriage,-he said, in a hoarse voice: 
“My friends, no other remedy is left but to take 
up arms!” And he drove off with a rapidity 
that looked like flight. 

“The people entreat his assistance, but the 
prince lacks just one trifle to become head of the 
“He is 


going to Versailles, as I have learned from bis 


revolution—courage!” said Chamfort. 


valet de chambre ; and yet, if he had nerve enough, 
he could this day be proclaimed king in Paris. 
But fear is his postilion; and the revolution, after 
all, does not agree with him.” . 

“He is a coward, with whom we must have no 
intercourse!” exclaimed Mirabeau, indignantly. 
“ And I am suspected of having a secret under- 
standing with such a wretch! If heaven itself 
descended to the earth, I would never be found 
in the same region with the Duke d’Orleans!” 

The crowd disappeared gradually, and the 
In the Rue St. 
Honoré they met a procession, headed by a Sa- 


friends could easily find egress. 


voyard and a young man costumed as a person of 
rank, The former carried a bust of the Duke 
d’Orleans, which he raised on high, to show it to 
the multitude, at the same time swinging his 
black cap triumphantly. The young man near 
him, dressed in a coat of striped silk, and wear- 
ing two watches, besides other articles of jewelry, 
carried a bust of Necker. Both these images 
were covered with black crape, intimating that 
those they represented were in disgrace at court. 
Various banners waved above their heads, in- 
scribed with words of defiance and victory. 
What was singular, this throng consisted not 
altogether of the lower classes, for many persons 
of rank were to be seen among them. 

“What can the people care about Orleans or 
Necker?” asked Mirabeau of Chamfort. “The 
masses always need idols, and will have them, 
even if they steal them from a plaster-cast store. 
I recently saw those busts in the studio of Curtius, 





215 


on the Boulevard du Temple. Let us go with them. 
It is instructive to see in what manner ignorance 
creates its divinities—it must have something to 
worship, though it would destroy what intelli- 
gence offers as most worthy of adoration.” 

The crowd continued on their way toward the 
boulevards, passing the most populous streets, 
and becoming more numerous. They met a de- 
tachment of French guards, and, inducing them 
to make common cause with the people, swelled 
the triumphal march—an incident which gave to 
the whole proceeding great weight in the estima- 
tion of the multitude. 
Vendéme, one of the cavalry stationed there fired 


On arriving at the Place 


among the citizens, and the young man carrying 
Necker’s bust fell with a shriek. He was mortal- 
ly wounded, and died in a moment. He was 
carried into a house, while another picked up the 
The 


cavalry were ordered to retreat, but, vacating the 


image and took his place in the procession. 


square, reappeared from a side-street behind the 
people, who had reached the Place Louis XV. 
Confusion ensued, the order of the procession 
was broken, another shot fired, and the Savoy- 
ard wounded, He received also a sabre-stroke 
in his breast, and fell a corpse to the ground, 
Borne upon the shoulders of his friends, he was 
taken into the Palais-Royal, to be exhibited in 
state to all Paris. 

When this Orleans and Necker parade closed, 
the populace separated to different parts of the 
city, intent on mischief. The French guards, oc- 
cupying the barracks in the Rue Verte, were be- 
coming restless, demanding to be led against the 
foreign regiments that had acted so inimically 
toward the citizens. A man named Gonchon, who 
had Jately caused much of the excitement in the 
faubourgs, appeared among the guards, and 
stirred the soldiers by his rude eloquence, such 
as had seldom been heard from one of his class. 
He insisted that the French troops should chal- 
lenge the foreigners to mortal conflict; and so 
successful was he, that, as Mirabeau and Cham- 
fort approached the Rue Verte, the armed troops: 
were rushing from the garrison after him, who, in. 
his coarse blouse, ran at their head. 


216 


‘There is Gonchon,” said Chamfort. ‘ Look 
at him well, Mirabeau; he is one of those hideous 
figures lately visible in Paris, as if suddenly risen 
of a dark night from a cavern deep hidden from 
the day. He is ugly as sin, and his red-speckled 
skin seems to mark him as the former inhabitant 
Nothing equals 
his haughtiness, and in speaking of himself his 


of some other abode than man’s, 


pompous gravity makes him say, ‘Gonchon will 
do so and so.’” 

“Ts that the Gonchon who is called the Mira- 
beau of the faubourgs?” asked the count, regard- 
ing the man in the blouse with smiling surprise. 

“Yes, my friend,” replied Chamfort, “the Mira- 
beau of the National Assembly has a companion. 
You will have to work into each other’s hands. 
You have become the hero of the deputies, al- 
though at first received with hisses, and your col- 
leagues kicked and reared like a charger that does 
not know its rider; but they know better since 
your first matchless speech against the separation 
according to rank—both horse and rider have be- 
come renowned. But you, gentlemen of the Salle 
des Menus at Versailles, must not think that the 
Parisian street-vagrants have not also their Mira- 
beau. 
see he has his work to do, and knows how to do 
i¢,”? 

“Perhaps he has fewer enemies than I,” said 


You must not despise Gonchon, for you 


the count. ‘“ You are well aware that I hate 


commotion on the street. However, our National 
Assembly are a weak and pitiful set, as I told you 
from the beginning. All the good I can see in 
them is, that the revolution may develop its lungs 
by their means, much in the same way as the cry- 
ing of children is a healthful exercise.” 

“T am surprised that you are not present at the 
debates to-day,” said Chamfort, as the party fol- 
lowed in the direction of the guards to the Place 
Louis XV. 


intended to deliver a declaration to the king, in- 


“An important session is held. Itis 


forming him that the new ministry have not the 
confidence of the nation and its representatives, 
and that the immediate recall of Necker is neces- 
sary for the public good.” 

“T heard the preparatory debates this morning, 


knew, or whence he came. 





COUNT MIRABEAU, 


before I left Versailles,” replied Mirabeau. “ But 
a report of the ill-health of my father, called me to 
Argenteuil. I wished to see him, as he is said 
to be in a critical condition. We are reconciled, 
and all the woe that was associated with that 
name for me, has been turned to love.” 

When arrived at the Place Louis XYV., it was 
rumored that at the approach of the French guards, 
the foreign troops under the command of M. de 
Besenval, were ordered to retire. Assurances were 
given that bloody collisions would be avoided, and 
the military withdrawn from the interior of the 
capital. Soon none were seen except the guards, 
who were on intimate terms with the citizens. 

In the mean time the alarm-bells rang in all the 
steeples and towers. The insurrection was de- 
veloping itself in different parts of the city; the 
stores containing weapons were plundered, to equip 
the multitudes eager for them; and soon armed 
crowds roamed about the streets vociferating their 
intention to attack any one obnoxious to them. | 
The number demanding arms seemed to increase, 
and a furious crowd rushed toward the Hdtel de 
Ville, and entered the large hall, where a few elec- 
tors and officials of Paris were holding a meeting, 
to deliberate about the order and security of the 
capital. A promise was made that the guns and 
swords in the building would be delivered to them ; 
but the depository of weapons was soon discov- 
ered, and the doors broken open, when each per. 
son seized what first came to his hand. The sen- 
tinels before the city-hall had left; their place 
being suddenly occupied by a strange figure who 
seemed to have assumed this position of his own 
accord. He was a gigantic man, whom no one 
He had on nothing 
but a shirt—not even shoes. On his shoulder he 
carried a gun, and paced before the Hétel de 
Ville.* 

Mirabeau and Chamfort gazed at this apparition 
with the greatest astonishment. ‘“‘ Here is another 
of those frightful creatures, hatched by the insur- 
rection, who never before had a visible existence 
among us!” said Chamfort, looking with awe upon 





* “+ Procés-verbal de l’Assemblée des Electeurs,” 
vol. i., p. 189. 


THE FIRST REPUBLICANS. 217 


the unknown sentinel. ‘See with what ease and 
determination that almost naked man shoulders 
his arms. He must be Rousseau’s natural man, 
_who, the offspring of the philosophers, is on guard 
before the temple of the revolution. Would you 
take it amiss should I kneel before this herald 
monster, and worship it?” 

“Tt would not be the first time that the maker 
kneels before his own work,” replied Mirabeau. 
“But, believe me, you ean do nothing with such 
people. National hunger, assuming the shape of an 
armed spectre, is a messenger of blood, if it thus 
paces in front of the vestibule of the future. I 
have learned much these days, and, among other 
things, that we must accept nothing froma re- 
public. It will not be a commonwealth of heroes, 
but of ragamuifins. What else is your divinity, 
before whom you would bow ?—And I must tell 
you that the articles you are now writing for the 
Merewre do not please me. You are building an 
air-castle, and with infernal subtlety; here you 
' see one of its lords before you. He is nearly 
naked, and, careless of the future, he has probably 
now even loaded his gun.” 

“Ts it true then that our path separates ? ” asked 
Chamfort, ina melancholy tone. “On this day, the 
12th of July, there are perhaps but ten republi- 
cans in Paris ; and they tell you how small is our 
beginning ;* but this party will grow. Do not 
abuse that poor fellow on account of his costume. 
Nature gave him his well-developed limbs, the rev- 
olution will make a god of him, after hunger has 
When the ancient 


deities reigned on Olympus they had no tailor, and 


given him the look of a saint. 
that was the golden age. Farewell, Mirabeau! 
A toilet question estranges us; for I know you 
will employ your influence in endeavoring to have 
a new lining for the rent ermine.” 

Chamfort suddenly disappeared. The last crowd 
that passed seemed to have engulfed him. Mira- 
beau looked a long time in the direction where 
his friend had disappeared, and stood as if lost in 
painful reflection. 

The evening approached, and the disturbances 





* “Fragment de I’Histoire Secréte de la Révolution,” 
par Camille Desmoulins, p. 11. 





in the streets were more to be dreaded. The 
passers-by were forced to contribute money for 
the purchase of powder and ball. Many ran with 
torches, asking all they met whether they be- 
longed to the Third Estate. Some were reading 
periodicals or placards by the dismal light, ex- 
pressing their misery with bitter irony, and some- 
times with wit. Others again passed, who, from 
their exclamations, revealed their purposes of 
firing the principal buildings in the city. 

The count continued his way, having resolved 
to remain in Paris during the night, as he would 
have difficulty in reaching Versailles on account of 
He hastened 
to find the small dwelling of Henriette and Coco 


the troops surrounding the capital. 


in the Rue Montmartre, which was his home 
whenever he was in the city. 

All Paris was in fear'of approaching evil. The 
bells of the Hdtel de Ville and Notre Dame rang 
incessantly. Divisions of the citizen guard, just 
organized, were seen marching the streets. Here 
and there windows were illuminated, for the night 
was dark. The French guards united with the 
armed inhabitants for the protection of the capi- 
tal ; and from time to time reports of fire-arms were 
heard, followed by cries of alarm. Paris was like 
a man dangerously ill and tormented by fearful 
apprehensions.* 

Mirabeau reached the Rue Montmartre about 
midnight. Henriette had not yet retired, and met 
him with joyful surprise. She saw him now but > 
seldom, and she kissed his hands with a sort of 
reverential love. Coco also came running into the 
room, and was heartily greeted. The boy com- 
plained that Henriette would not permit him to 
go out and assist in raising a barricade at the cor- 
ner of the street. 

“* Why do you wish to build fortifications against 
the king, my friend?” asked Mirabeau. ‘‘ What 
in the world has Louis XVI. done to you? Have 
you not grown as tall as any lad of seven years, 
during his reign? You will be much better and 
stronger if you love your king, my boy!” 

Henriette smiled and asked pardon for her little 





* Buchez, p. 376. 


218 


protégé. The count was at last aware that she 
suffered more than her letters led him to suppose. 
Her lungs appeared to be dangerously affected, 
and her beautiful form, once so fresh and Strong, 
was clearly under the dominion of an incurable 
disease. As he took her in his arms she seemed 
to him as a fading flower, and he scarcely dared 
to press her to his heart. Sorrow overwhelmed 
him when he looked on her hollow and fevered 
cheeks, and remembered the love she bore him, 
Begging her to go to rest with Coco, he assured 
her that nothing more need be feared for that 
night in the capital. 

When Madame de Nehra and the child had left 
Mirabeau alone, he found some relief at his desk, 
describing the events of which he had been an 
eye-witness, and intended for his journal. It was 
a pleasure and a duty for him to express himself 
freely, and he warned the people not to sacrifice 
their rights to a blind desire for destruction and 


the unhallowed gratification of revenge. 


OHAPTER XXXIV. 


A COFFIN, 


Arrer a short rest, Mirabeau arose to make 
preparations for bis speedy return to Versailles. 
He wished, however, to ascertain the situation of 
affairs in Paris, in order to make propositions in 
the National Assembly, whose object was the calm- 
ing of the public mind, and the removal of danger. 
As he was about to depart, having silently taken 
leave of Henriette and Coco, who were asleep, he 
was met by a courier on the threshold, who had 
orders to follow the count to Versailles if he 
should not be found in Paris. Mirabeau opened 
with anxiety the letter handed him, for he rec- 
ognized in the address the handwriting of his 
niece the Marchioness d’Arragon. He glanced at 
the contents, and the paper fell from his hand, 
Hel- 
ena announced to him in this letter that his 


his father had died suddenly, a few hours after his 


as he went into an adjoining apartment. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


interview with the long-neglected son. On his 
departure at the last visit, the marquis appeared 
to rally rapidly. 
an article from Mirabeau’s new journal, while the 


His grand-daughter read to him 


old gentleman was in his favorite seat near the 
window. He listened attentively, and noticed an 
omission, requesting Helena to read the paragraph 
again; scarcely had she excused herself for her 
oversight, and recommenced the passage, when 
she observed that her grandfather closed his 
eyes. She hastened toward him, but his head 
drooped, and, as if happy in the last remembrances 
of his son, and with a smiling face, he ceased to 
breathe.* According to the expressed wishes of 
the marquis, his remains were immediately to be 
taken to Castle Mirabeau, and placed in the fam- 
ily vault. Helena had written the count to pro- 
cure a leaden coffin in Paris, to be sent as soon 
as possible to Argenteuil, and, awaiting the ar- 
rival of the body at the capital, undertake the 
further execution of his father’s will. 

As Mirabeau passed into the street to attend to 
this sorrowful duty, he beheld the people again in 
motion, having been but little interfered with dur- 
ing the night. Tbe thoroughfares were crowded 
with armed men. Several groups, headed by 
soldiers of the French guard, marched with drums 
and trumpets, inducing those they met to join 
them, in order to assault St. Lazare in the Rue 
St. Denis, and make themselves masters of the 
flour depositories. Others went from house to 
house, alarming the inhabitants, and threatening 
with fire and death those who would not follow 
them. Many were hastening toward the Hotel . 
de Ville to enroll themselves for the organization | 
of a citizen guard. 

The count was informed on the way that early 
the same morning the electors of Paris had as- 
sembled at the city hall, and formed a permanent 
committee, who were endeavoring to reéstablish 
order, by calling for forty-eight thousand citizens 
to constitute the Parisian militia. The royal 
troops were resting in the Champ de Mars, at 
St. Denis, Savres, and St. Cloud, and the opinion 





* Montigny, vol. vi., p. 129. 


A COFFIN. | hee 


prevailed that the new ministers, especially Messrs. 
De Breteuil et de la Galaisiére, who had hostile 
intentions toward the people, preferred to let the 
insurrection reach a certain point, so as to justify 
them in the adoption of the severest measures. 
Mirabeau found the store he was seeking 
locked, as but few shopkeepers could be in- 
duced to trade on such a day. After some diffi- 
culty he gained: an entrance into the warehouse, 
and, examining the ready-made coffins, selected the 
largest for the remains of his father; then, turn- 
ing to the proprietor, who regarded him doubt- 
fully, he said: 
such a purchase to-day. Do you expect so little 


“You are surprised that I make 


business that you lock up such indispensable 
articles? However, I suppose you think that the 
permanent committee at the Hotel de Ville will 
make peace?” 

“Peace?” replied the man, shaking his head. 
“This citizen militia ean do no good, even if they 
disarm the mob, and I am concealing myself that 
The 
city cannot be protected, but will be divided, in 


I may not be forced into this new service. 


this way, forming two separate camps, of which 
the court will take advantage.” 

* You are right,” said Mirabeau, after a pause, 
“and I find that there is much wisdom where I 
did not expect it. The idea of a citizen guard is 
a reaction; it is the same as arming a popular 
movement against itself; it insures the death of 
liberty. I must go to the Hétel de Ville and re- 
quest a guard to accompany my father’s coffin, 
and preserve it from attack.” 

“You must apply to M. de la Salle; he has 
been appointed commander of the citizen guards,” 
“They will no doubt 
gladly accommodate you, for you look like a man 
of rank. The true friends of the people have no 


replied the merchant. 


confidence in the new committee at the city hall, 
and, least of all, M. de Flesselles, who has been 
chosen president!” 

The count hastened away, meeting other 
crowds tending to the prison of La Force, to 
set free those within its walls—for the most part 
victims of malice or poverty. At another point 
he met the rioters returning from St. Lazare, and 





: 219 
ee Pan 5 | 
- wo adontiballe vot. flour, 
parent. gear ey 

dis stress oF ever 


They had expended their Poe upon the: _ 





rejoicing over 







guarded by men 
oppressed by hunger Bi 


well supplied with all the necessaries of life; 
but, when money was offered them, they disdain- 
fully refused it, taking only what would relieve to 
some extent the terrible want among the lower 
classes in Paris. 

At the same time a number of country people 
entered the city. Taking advantage of the burn- 
ing down of the barriéres, they brought in a 
great quantity of provisions, which satisfied the 
starving mob, and in some measure allayed their 
passions. Persons who had never seen one 
another embraced in the open street, vowing 
fraternal affection, while in other places cries for 
arms and ammunition were still heard. Some 
rushed toward the Hétel des Invalides, entering 
it by climbing over the walls and ditches, and 
ransacked it of all its armament, bearing it to the 
Palais-Royal. Cannon were mounted in different 
parts of the city—at the entrance of all the fau- 
bourgs, at the Tuileries, and upon the quays and 
bridges of the Seine. 

When Mirabeau arrived at the city hall, he was 
immediately recognized, and received with loud 
cheers. He was conducted to the apartment in 
the 


members believed that he came from Versailles, 


which the committee held their meetings; 


bringing them a communication from the Nation- 
al Assembly, and surrounded him in great ex- 
citement; for one of the first movements of the 
permanent committee was to attempt a union be- 
tween themselves and the representatives of the 
nation, and thus effect more than by separate 
action. The count assured them that he came as 
a private citizen, to request a protective force for 
the remains of his father. Flesselles, the presi- 
dent, obligingly promised to make all the neces- 
sary arrangements. 

On regaining the street, Mirabeau met a strange 
procession, Those composing it were holding 
each other by the hand, and shedding tears that 
could flow only from a sense of victory in the cause 


of freedom. They were the debtors imprisoned 


220 


in La Force, just liberated by the populace. Some 
had been there from their early youth, and had 
passed the allotted life of man within dungeon 
walls ; while others, still young, had grown gray 


’ before their time. 


Another crowd was on the Place Gréve, whither 
they had dragged the carriage of the Prince de 
Lambese, intending to burn it; but first sending 
all the articles found in it to the Hétel de Ville, 
In 
another quarter, several laborers were hurry- 


that they might be returned to their owner. 


ing one of their comrades into the garden of the 
Abbey de Montmartre, to hang him on a tree for 
having stolen a chicken, 

The people decorated themselves with badges, 
expressive of their opinions, and the women gave 
their ribbons to ornament the guns, There was a 
At first 
every weapon had something green fastened to it, 


rivalry in the display of various colors. 


telling of hope that national and social life would 
be regenerated ; but this color was not long a 
favorite, as it was remembered to be that of the 
Count d’ Artois. 
cockade of white, blue, and red, which was adopt- 


Then some one appeared with a 


ed by all anxious to run to extremes, and end in 
a radical revolution. 

“White, blue, and red!” said Mirabeau. 
“That is the livery of the Duke d’Orleans.* 
When a people seek liberty, it seems they mere- 
ly exchange one master for another; and, in this 
instance, they choose the most cowardly among 
men! His agents understand their business. The 
badge of the revolution bears the colors of a royal 
livery! And are we of the National Assembly to 
be behind? The king alone can make the best 
and happiest change in the government ! Royalty 
should be an institution leading the march of all 
salutary ideas,and Louis XVI. is its best repre- 
sentative. He knows what ought to be; he need 
but consult his heart to feel what is best for 
his subjects. And who prevents him from giving 
Is it Marie An- 
toinette ? No, fair lady, you are falsely accused 


practical form to his impulses ? 


of being a foe of your people!” 





* Ferriéres, vol. ii., p. 121. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


Thus meditating, the count made his way back 
to the coffin-store, and concluded his sad business. 
As he passed to the house of one of his friends, he 
met multitudes on the road hastening to leave the 
city. The wagons were filled with articles of 
value, and among them were seated women and 
children, with countenances full of fear, believing 
that there was no safety but far away from Paris, 
Families of high rank, and some of them relatives 
of the count, were fleeing in dismay from the ter- 
rors of an enraged populace. 

An order was issued from the Hétel de Ville 
that none must leave the capital; those already 
on their way were forced to return, and detained 
as hostages. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 
THE CONFLICT AROUND THE BASTILE 


Tue remains of the Marquis de Mirabeau ar- 
rived in Paris on the following morning, the 14th 
of July, solemnly escorted by twelve of the citizen 
guards. The coffin was placed in the entry of the 
house where the count was residing, until its fur- 
ther destination could be decided. He was wait- 
ing for bis brother the viscount, who had promised 
to come from Versailles, that the two sons might 
follow their father to his last resting-place. 

The capital presented a more gloomy appearance 
than on the preceding day; at sunrise the masses 
seemed to be bent on mischief, but their move- 
ments were better organized, and as if in refer- 
ence to some definite object, which made them 
only the more dangerous. Mirabeau sat by the 
coffin, leaning sorrowfully against it, while the 
guards were walking up and down before the 
door, their guns rattling, and demanding from 
time to time whether the funeral would not soon 
move. Their impatience arose from the antici- 
pated events of the day. An attack from the 
troops was expected, and the committee at the 
Hotel de Ville were busy all night, arranging 
measures by which Paris could make a brave and 


THE CONFLICT AROUND THE BASTILE. 


They resolved to make the 
people master of the Bastile, thus obtaining a 


victorious resistance. 


base for the protection of all parts of the city 
against the advancing soldiers of Marshal de 
Broglie. 

At last the viscount came. Entering the dwell- 
ing quickly, he stepped back confounded, for the 
first object that he beheld was the coffin. Mira- 
beau did not rise at his brother’s approach, merely 
The 
fat and ungainly form of the viscount shuddered, 


pointing toward the remains of their father. 


and he sank upon a chair standing at the head, 
The broth- 


ers were silent for several minutes, not even 


while the count remained at the feet. 


exchanging a glance. Suddenly a trumpet sounded 
as a signal for the militia to repair to their ap- 
pointed rendezvous, and the alarm-bell of the city 
hall was again rung. 

Mirabeau sprang from his seat, and hastened to 
the street door, where he saw the last of his es- 
“ They have 
all left their posts of honor here,” he said sadly, 


cort disappearing in the distance. 


returning and offering his hand to his brother. 
“We must bury our own dead, for our guards 
have rushed into the fight at the side of their com- 
rades. We are all alone; this street is far distant 
from the tumult.” 

The viscount arose, slightly touching his broth- 
er’s hand. “This will be a terrible day in Paris, 
bal. | 


was driving hither, every thing appeared ready fur 


but perhaps also a good one!” he said. 
a street.combat. The people swarmed in excited 
crowds toward the square before the Bastile, and 
I was informed that brave Delaunay, the governor 
of the fortress, had refused to deliver it into the 
hands of the city. The committee at the Hétel 
de Ville have sent several detachments of this 
miserable militia, and three companies of our faith- 
less guards, to attack the Bastile from the side 
of the Porte St. Antoine.” 

“Let us dismiss politics to-day, my brother!” 
exclaimed Mirabeau. “I am thinking how we 
can bear our dear dead from out this confusion, 
, and get our burden safe to the public road. 
The carriage is ready, and we must not delay, for 
soon it will be impossible to pass through the 





221 


streets without endangering our lives. Can you 
take hold at one end, Boniface, and assist me in 
lifting the coffin upon the vehicle? For, with 
the exception of the driver, we are abandoned by 
all.” 

The viscount looked at himself with embarrass- 
ment mingled with his usual sarcasm. Then he 
said, pointing to the uniform of a colonel of a 
Toulouse regiment which he wore, and the many 
orders on his breast: ‘I have been in many a 
battle, my dear brother, while you rode your 
goose-quill, with which you sought to make the 
people happy, but to carry a coffin I have neither 
courage nor skill. Jt is shocking to ask such a 
service of a cavalier, and I propose that we 
quietly leave the marquis our father here, until 
order has been restored. We can lock up the 
house, and I will go to the Champ de Mars, and 
My 
brother, the count, the high-born friend of the 


request an escort from Marshal de Broglie. 


mob, may go to the city hall and see his friends.” 

“ No, neither the one nor the other shall be 
done!” exclaimed Mirabeau, indignantly. “ It 
was the express desire of our father that his mor- 
tal remains be at once conducted to Castle Mira- 
beau. We must honor his will; who knows 
whether Paris will not be in flames before 
night?” 

‘“‘ Have you, friends of the people, such evil in- 
tentions ?” asked the viscount, ironically. 

The count did not reply. He beckoned to the 
driver, and, with his assistance, carried out the 
coffin. The viscount affected indifference, and 
looked on, saying, with a smile: ‘‘ Our father was 
always proud that kings and princes honored him 
during his lifetime, and that he carried on a fa- 
miliar correspondence about his Amé des Hommes 
with Stanislaus Augustus, King ef Poland, and 
Gustavus Ii]., King of Sweden. Now he may be 
even more exalted, for the hero of the Third Es- 
tate is carrying him on his broad shoulders, who 
is no other than-his lost son,” | 

“Yes,” replied Mirabeau, aiding the man in 
fastening down the pall, “the hero of the Third 
Estate is his lost son, but found again; and his 


former favorite, the well-fed pupil of the aristoc- 


222 


racy, rubs his hands and indulges in untimely wit. 
Now enter your carriage, M. Viscount, I shall fol- 
low on foot.” 

“ Had we not better wait ?” asked the younger 
brother, in great agitation. ‘‘They seem to be 
fighting yonder; I hear the sound of arms, and 
we may perhaps be dragged into this fearful con- 
flict.” 

As some armed men ran by, Mirabeau stopped 
them, and was informed that the people had com- 
menced the attack on the Bastile, assisted by 
three companies of French guards with their can- 
non. The first drawbridge was already in the 
hands of the assailants. A report was spreading 
that Delaunay intended to blow up the fortress 
with all the garrison, and great consternation 
seized the inhabitants in that vicinity.. 

“ We may be perfectly tranquil,” said Mirabeau 
to his brother. 


of harm, and we are taking no part in the battle. 


“Our father is beyond the reach 


On the contrary, according to our best ideas of 
prudence, we are in an advantageous position. If 
the people are victorious, I am able to protect 
you; should the court gain the upper hand, then 
I hope that you will at least not forsake me; for 
I may yet do good.” 

“‘ You are in error,” replied the viscount, spite- 
fully ; ‘you have already done too much for me 
to save you from the gallows. On my side, I do 
not even expect to be spared the lamp-post!” * 

“The moment appears all-important,” said the 
count, thoughtfully. “The lion-hunt of 1789 
begins to-day.” 

“The assembly at Versailles have made mat- 
ters worse,” rejoined the younger brother. “ Per- 
haps you do not know that they addressed a dec- 
laration to the king yesterday? In it they make 
the councillors of his majesty personally respon- 
sible for all this mischief and bloodshed, and an- 
nounce that their sessions are henceforth perma- 
nent. At the same time they elected Marquis de 
Lafayette vice-president, because the Archbishop 
of Vienne was incapable of his duties as presi- 


dent.” 





* Condorcet, ‘*‘ Mémoires,” vol. ii., p. 156. 





COUNT MIRABEAD. 


“ These are great deeds in conjunction with the 
destruction of the old prison of tyranny in the 
Rue St. Antoine!” replied Mirabeau. “ Our fa- 
ther was at one time an inmate of the Bastile, 
because one of his works gave umbrage to those 
in authority. Now the thunder of its ruin echoes 
over his corpse; truly, the brothers Mirabeau 
could not find a time more suitable to bury their 
father. Let us then hasten—even the dead must 
lose no time.” He motioned the viscount to en- 
ter the carriage, refusing the seat offered him, and 
slowly followed on foot. They passed through 
several of the principal streets in order to reach 
the gate of the city, and suddenly found them- 
selves in the midst of a multitude whose faces 
expressed joy and terror. Mirabeau learned that 
the fortress had fallen. It could not long with- 
stand the attack, being inefficiently defended by 
the invalids and the Swiss guards, After a mur- 
derous fire upon the besiegers, they crossed the 
bridges and court-yards, and began a butchery - 
of the garrison. Delaunay, the governor, who 
had not the courage to kill himself, was in a cruel 
manner dragged outside the gate, dashed upon 
the steps, and his head cut off. Smoking in its 
hot blood, it was fastened on a pike, and, high 
above the howling multitude, carried through the 
streets of Paris, 

The same fate overtook the major of the Bas- 
tile, Desolmes-Salibrai, although he was as great- 
ly esteemed and beloved by the prisoners as De- 
launay was execrated. His clotted head was the 
second trophy borne with songs of triumph to the 
Palais-Royal. 
were drawn as dogs to the Place Gréve, but the 
thirst for blood was too impatient, and they were 


Two other officers of the garrison 


massacred on the way. 

On passing through another street, Mirabeau 
and his funeral cortége met others quarrelling 
over their victims. There were left of the garri- 
son of the Bastile twenty-two invalids and eleven 
Swiss soldiers of the Salis regiment who had fired 
on the citizens, and they were to expiate their 
crime by being hanged on the lamp-posts; but 
the French guards, who had assisted in taking 
the fortress, favored their former comrades, and 


THE CONFLICT AROUND THE BASTILE. 


demanded their pardon. At the slow approach 
of the black hearse, silence ensued, the loudest 
declaimers ceased, and all stepped back respect- 
fully to give a passage to the dead marquis. 
Some regarded the incident with superstition, and 
faces that were swollen and red with passion now 
suddenly paled with fear. 

Mirabeau was soon recognized, and greeted in 
a silent and considerate manner, for they under- 
stood his feelings and his place. It was soon 
generally known that the count was burying his: 
father, and, as if by preconcerted arrangement, 
the people formed a guard of honor, accompany- 
While the 
tumult raged on all sides, and its sounds were 


ing him through many of the streets. 


heard like the roaring of the stormy sea, all was 
calm and silent wherever Mirabeau appeared. 
Thousands followed, as if some new standard had 
been raised, but so quietly that the count could 
scarcely refrain from an outburst of gratitude 
when he looked round at the impromptu escort, 
at whose head he was walking in his costume of 
the Third Estate. 
carriage of his brother must either have turned 


He was now aware that the 


The viscount could 
no longer endure the mob, and ceased, as soon as 


back or into a side-street. 


practicable, to accompany the remains of his fa- 
ther to the grave. 

A letter from Flesselles, the president of the 
permanent committee, was found in the pocket 
of the governor of the Bastile. The former had 
long been considered a traitor to the people, and 
did not belie his reputation, for he thus wrote to 
Delaunay, whose streaming head at this moment 
was passing on a pikestaff through the thorough- 
fares of the capital: “I am amusing the Parisians 
with cockades and promises; hold out till the 
evening, and you shall have reénforcements.” 
Thus it appeared that there was truth in the re- 
ports that he had a secret understanding with the 
court. He was known as a gay and dissipated 
man, forcing himself into higher circles, and con- 
temning the lower classes. He now paid for it 
with his life. He was hurled from the Hétel de 
Ville, and the mob rushed upon him, beating him 
until he died. His dissevered head, like the 





223 


others, went the rounds of Paris, to be afterward 
added to those already in the Palais-Royal. 

A new direction was now given to the popular 
movement. The insurgents thought that they 
might deduce from the letter of the unfortunate 
Flesselles an attack upon the city before night by 
All felt the danger, 
and hastened to make active preparations for 


the whole military force. 
defence. The committee sent divisions of the 
citizen guards for the protection of the most ex- 
posed places. The streets resounded with the 
hammering of workmen and the rattle of arms; 
all classes were engaged—men, women, children. 
Even the priests were busy. Barricades like moun- 
tains arose as by a sorcerer’s wand, The paving- 
stones were carried to the roofs of the houses, to 
be east down upon the heads of the soldiers. 
Valuable furniture, statues, bronze ornaments, 
and ponderous books, were collected for the same 
purpose. Before the barriéres deep pits were dug 
On the 
steeples and towers sentinels were stationed to 


to check the approach of cavalry. 


give the alarm as soon as they saw the first ad- 
vance of the troops. 

Mirabeau beheld these preparations with pro- 
found regret. He heard the passwords expres- 
sive of liberty given in the different districts, and 
sometimes remembering Washington as the de- 
In a black- 


smith’s shop he noticed the men forging lances; 


fender of American independence. 


and in other workshops casting balls and making 
instruments for the construction of barricades. 
In the streets and squares were impatient crowds 
swearing that they would have liberty or die in 
the attempt. ; 

The count followed his father’s remains beyond 
the Barriére du Tréne. The country was so 
peaceful, that he almost believed the fears pre- 
vailing in the city were exaggerated. Yet he felt 
undecided whether he ought to take advantage 
of his duty in one respect to neglect it in another, 
and he hesitated to turn his back upon the great 
events transpiring. The driver was a trustworthy 
man, and no doubt was felt that he would safely 
lay the body intrusted to his eare in its last 
abode. 


a 


224 


Mirabeau at length halted the carriage, and, in 
a voice choked with grief, said: 
father ! 


owe my country. The occurrences of to-day bid 


“Farewell, my 
My duty to you is cancelled by that I 


me enter the strife, and necessity forces me to re- 
peat, ‘Let the dead bury their dead!’” Stretch- 
ing his hand over the coffin in a last adieu, he 
quickly returned to the tumult of Paris, which 
seemed like a vast factory of unceasing labor, 
and yet in all this busy preparation for resistance 
there was manifested a calm and dignified resolu- 
tion, which deeply affected the count. He de- 
termined to remain in the capital until the even- 


ing, and then ride to Versailles, where he de- 


signed to report what had happened to the Na- | 


tional Assembly. On the square, before the 
Hotel de Ville, he met Camille Desmoulins, pale 
and weary, staggering beneath the huge gun on 
his shoulder, and his clothes spotted with human 
gore. He recognized the count, and saluted him 
familiarly. 

“You have been at sad work to-day, Desmou- 
lins,” said Mirabeau. ‘‘Do you think more will 
be dene to-night ?” 

“Certainly ; to-night we shall have the pitched 
battle of the revolution!” replied Desmoulins, 
with flaming eyes. ‘‘The first thing necessary in 
the destruction of a government is plenty of 
blood. That is the reason we have just brought 
to the lamp-post two more of the invalids be- 
longing to the garrison of the Bastile.” 

The count looked toward the place indicated, 
and beheld the bodies struggling in death, while 
the mob howled around them. ‘You have not 
kept your word to me,” said Mirabeau, turning 
away in disgust. ‘‘ You promised to promote the 
excitement, but to avoid such orgies as these.” 

“He who brings home the bride should kiss 
her,” replied Desmoulins, laughing, and disappear- 
ing among his comrades. 

Mirabeau was about to proceed, when he found 
himself accosted by Claviére, Dumont, and Duro- 
veray. 

**T was surprised in not having seen the three 
Genevans in this awful work,” said the count, 


shaking hands with them, “You appear to me 





COUNT MIRABEAU, 


like the three Parces, spinning the thread " the 
destiny of France.” 

“We have just arrived from Versailles,” replied 
Claviére, in great excitement. ‘“ People are mer- 
rier there than they are here. The court give. 
banquets, while the inhabitants of Paris are 
gathering their heart’s blood to fling it into the 
face of tyranny.” 

“What kind of exteyeaans! can me have?” 
asked Mirabeau, in surprise. 

“Well, on the terrace of the orangery at Ver- 
sailles,” rejoined Claviére, “‘ you may see what roy- 
alty is. The two regiments Royal-Allemand and 
Royal-Etranger, appointed to massacre the popu- 
lace, are in the mean time enjoying the music of 
the dance. The German soldiers are waltzing 
Wine 
flows plentifully, for drunken troops are always 


with that grace of which they are capable. 
the most useful in a civil war. The voice of mer- 
riment resounds through the city. The most 
beautiful ladies are there, and wave their delicate 
hands in applause. You may see the queen, the 
Count d’Artois, the princes and princesses, the 
Polignacs, and the swarm of courtiers, present as 
spectators of those amusements, which are con- 
sidered'a sort of prologue to a victory over the 
people. The court intend an attack very soon; 
if I am not deceived, about midnight an assault 
of the capital may be expected.” 

“ And did the king appear?” asked the count. 

“Louis XVI. sits in his cabinet, brooding over 
“For he is 


sensitive and noble enough to realize his own mis- © 


his misfortunes,” replied Claviére. 


ery in the anarchy of his country. Your dear 
National Assembly have dispatched one deputa- 
tion after another to him, but he replies evasively, 
thus revealing his anxiety. When requested to 
withdraw the troops, he answers briefly that the 
regiments stationed in the Champ de Mars were 
ordered to remain there. As we were leaving 
Versailles, the storming of the Bastile and the 
death of Delaunay and Flesselles became known. 
I cannot deny that the representatives of the peo- 
their fate 
depends on that of the capital; the attack on 


ple maintain a dignified demeanor ; 


Paris will be the signal for arresting the members 


Ss eee eee 


al ai 


THE CONFLICT AROUND THE BASTILE. 


of the assembly. The latter are well aware that 
the hussars and body-guards, standing all day be- 
fore the castle, are ready to surround the hall of 
the deputies at any moment, and arrest those ob- 
noxious on account of their patriotism.” 

“There is also a proscription-list, Count Mira- 
beau,” Dumont now began. ‘“ Your name is not 
omitted; the ministry have put you in good com- 
pany. At the commencement of the struggle, 
you, Siéyes, Chapelier, Lafayette, Lameth, and 
others, are to be seized.* These gentlemen have 
not slept in their dwellings for some time, passing 
the nights in the hall where the sessions are held, 
as.they are safer there, among the crowds that 
continually surround it, waiting only a word from 
the representatives to massacre the troops, and 
who would scarcely spare even the king or the 
royal family. You see what you may expect 
from the court, in spite of your advocacy of their 
principles!” 

“Oh,” exclaimed Mirabeau, with flashing eyes, 
“if I am monarchical it is on the side of liberty, 
not otherwise! After such a night as the one 
threatening us, the king becomes guilty, and the 
people innocent, of the misery and bloodshed that 
ensue. A new order of things will arise from the 
conflict, and who can tell by what name it will be 
designated ?” 

Claviére proposed to go to the club of the 
Palais-Royal, where they would meet those en- 
gaged in guiding the revolution, and where they 
might find something in the way of refreshment 
at the Café de Foy. As they proceeded they met 
the former inmates of the cells of the Bastile, 
accompanied by their liberators, returning to their 
homes and families. Among them were many 
sad-looking figures, thin and sallow, from the 
prison damps in which they had languished for 
many years; they seemed to have lost control 
over mind and body, and tottered like aged men. 
A youth named Whyte particularly attracted at- 
tention. He walked with a vacant smile, replying 
to no questions; none knew of what crime he had 


been accused—he himself could not tell. Mira- 
| 


225 


beau entered into conversation with him, and dis- 
covered that the poor fellow had indeed lost his 
mind. Another, named Tavernier, fought with his 
deliverers, whom, on their entrance into the cell, 
he had mistaken for executioners. His resist- 
ance was at last conquered by the compassionate 
assurances of his friends.* 

The crowd stopped before a house, and at first 
the meaning of this delay was not understood by 
those at a distance. Claviére, however, succeeded 
in forcing himself to the door, soon returning with 
the intelligence that it was the paternal mansion of 
Count de Solages, whose irreconcilable father had 
incarcerated him in the Bastile ten years before, 
from motives that were utterly unknown. 

“ And did not his father receive him with open 
arms ?” asked Mirabeau, in a trembling voice. 
“The time ought to have passed for unnatural 
enmity between parent and son.” 

“M. de Solages has just heard that his father is 
dead,” continued Claviére. “ His relatives will 
not recognize him, his fortune being in the hands 
of a collateral branch of the family.—See, the 
count reappears, turned away from his own home, 
and the tears are on his cheeks. The people are 
throwing stones, and smashing the windows !” 

The friends walked on, arriving at the Palais- 
Royal, where the public passion was at its height. 
At this hot-bed of the insurrection a kind of 
market was opened, which greatly increased the” 
The objects found in the Bastile were 
The 


money thus obtained was put by a national guards- 


agitation. 
arranged and sold to the highest bidder. 


man into a large box, on which was a placard 
with these words: “ For the wounded of the peo- 
ple.” Among the things regarded with supersti- 
tious awe, were weapons and instruments of curi- 
ous form, and machines tne use of which no one 
seemed to know. The respite that took place 
toward evening in the preparations for defence, 
was occupied in disputes as to the application of 
these articles for torture. An old iron corselet, 
that prevented him who had worn it from vol- 
untary moving, was found specially interesting. 





* Dumont, ‘“‘ Souvenirs sur Mirabeau,” p. 118. 


15 





* Louis Blanc, vol. i., ch. vi. 


226 


Many handcuffs and chains were lying about that 
seemed to have been in use for many years, 

* Behold, my friends, the people are forging new 
chains in this struggle,” said Mirabeau, pointing 
to the multitude in the court-yard, as he entered 
the Café de Foy. “ And they are in fact the old 
ones from which they have freed themselves by 
such violence and bloodshed.” 

When the evening approached, the count with 
his friends again passed through the streets of the 
capital. The position of affairs was the same, and 
nothing indicated that greater danger was to be 
feared. On the other hand, all the measures for 
defence were completed. Lamps shone in every 
At the 
corners stood sentinels, crying: “‘ Attend to your 


window, to illuminate the thoroughfares. 


lights, for to-night we must see well!” 

Mirabeau, wherever recognized, was received 
with shouts, to which he sometimes replied in 
short addresses. 
who were called upon to enter into so great and 


He congratulated the people, 


just a eombat for liberty, never omitting to add 
that their honor consisted not so much in courage 
as intemperance. Claviére, however, made furious 
speeches, speaking of nothing but revenge, and 
invoking shame and sorrow upon the privileged 
classes. 

From time to time, certain persons stepped forth 
from the masses, and moved about, examining the 
different posts, and encouraging the populace by 
words that promised every thing. They seemed 
to have some secret power of control, and an au- 
thority to which all bowed. At the Pont Neuf, a 
detachment of hussars made their appearance, but 
were soon surrounded, and their progress stayed, 
while the officer declared that he and his men 
came to make common cause with the citizens. 
At this moment one.of those active and mysteri- 
ous men hastily approached, placing himself un- 
der a lamp and watching the proceedings for some 
time. His countenance was naturally repulsive, 
and the oceasion had wrought in it.a most fero- 
cious expression. 

“That is a remarkable man,” said Mirabeau, 
who chanced to bein the vicinity with his friends. 
‘“‘T have never seen in.a human face such signs of 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 2 


cruelty and ploodthirstiness. His limbs are like 
those of a tiger, and I am wondering upon whom 
he will presently spring.” 

“That is young Marat,” said Claviére, smiling. 
“ He is a physician, and this night he will gain the 
highest honors of the revolution. You are right 
as to his tiger look and nature. I know him well; 
his family are from Switzerland.” 

Suddenly Marat leaped into the midst of the 
multitude. 
hussars, and said, in a piercing voice: “If you are 
in earnest, surrender your arms!” The officer 
stared and then refused. Marat turned to the 
people, and, addressing them in passionate words, 


He stood before the commander of 


invited them to follow him, and take the hussars 
to the Hétel de Ville, whence they should be con- 
ducted beyond the gates by a citizen guard. The 
proposition was received with applause, and Marat 
placed himself at the head of the escort. 

“The citizen guards are used for all possible 
purposes,” said Mirabeau, continuing his way. “I 
am almost sorry that I originated the idea, and 
induced the people to adopt it. I am laughing at 
myself, for all my theories go wrong in practice. 
It was in Prussia where I first thought of national 
guards; I am now disgusted with them, for you 
hear nothing but ‘ national guards ’—they are in- 
troduced into all conversation, and ready for any 
movement.” 

“ And yet for several weeks you have done noth- 
ing but clamor for them, my friend!” exclaimed 
Claviére. 


tuous citizens? If they and the lower classes are 


“ But what harm is there in these vir- 


separated by this organization, it is a very impor- 
tant affair. At last nothing will remain but the 
poor populace, with whom one can do any thing, 
because all has been taken from them!” 
Mirabeau silently shook his head. He thought 
he saw Chamfort at that moment in the crowd, 
with a sword and a gun, and soon recognized the 
thoughtful features of his friend, now glowing with 
fanatical ardor. Their eyes met for an instant, 
and the count, raising his arm, was about to say 
that he must not be angry at what occurred the 
day before but he disappeared, casting a stern. 


glance on his former friend. 


LOUIS XVI. AND MARIE ANTOINETTE. 


Midnight came, and no attack was yet made on 
Paris. Fearful reports, however, were dissemi- 
nated by the emissaries of the leaders of the rev- 
olution. At one time, it was said that the city 
would be bombarded from the Montmartre, where 
it was affirmed cannon and mortars were placed ; 
but as all remained quiet; Mirabeau was convinced 
that nothing would be done, and he resolved to 
start for Versailles, where he fancied other meas- 
ures had been urged, and the assault postponed. 
He left his friends, and, rapidly riding along the 
public road, passed unhindered through the 
camps. The tranquil sleep of the royal soldiers 
assured him that the anxiety in Paris had no 
foundation. Approaching the palace of Versailles 
he found the regiments stationed there rioting 
near daybreak, reminding him of what he had 
heard of the banquet on the terrace. Their rev- 
elry fesounded in the morning air; and toasts, 
by no means suggestive of the happiness of 
France, were responded to in the orgies of wine 
and lust. , 

Entering the city, Mirabeau met several depu- 
ties going to the session-hall, who informed him 
that an early meeting was to be held, to deliber- 
ate about another address to the king, in which 
the assembly would utter their final words to his 
majesty. 

The count soon after hastened to the apartment 
of the delegates, which presented a singular ap- 
pearance. The session of the previous evening 
had been adjourned but for a short time, that the 
members might have a few hours’ rest. Clermont 
Tonnerre had uttered these remarkable words, 
when the assembly were on the point of sending a 
third deputation to the king: “No, let us give 
them the night to take counsel; monarchs as well 
as other men must buy experience in a dear mar- 
ket!” 
hall; for some of the older gentlemen, tapestries 


Many delegates passed the night in the 


were spread upon the table, but no one slept—all 
in fear awaited the coming day. 

As Mirabeau entered, the members were taking 
their seats. Lafayette opened the session in his 
capacity of vice-president. Several deputies read 


their sketches of the address to Louis XVL, but 





227 


the count listened in sorrow, for they were unsat- 
isfactory at such a crisis, 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 
LOUIS XVI. AND MARIE ANTOINETTE. 


In the palace of Versailles all was quiet on the 
evening of the 14th of July ; the greatest anxiety 
had reigned during the day in the apartments of 
the king and queen, and various resolutions were 
taken and abandoned. Marie Antoinette  re- 
mained awake; for many a night, indeed, terrible 
presentiments agonized her mind. She passed 
the long hours in an arm-chair, revolving thoughts 
she could not banish. 

The queen dismissed Julie de Polignae about 
eleven o'clock until then 
the duchess endeavored to divert the sorrow of 
her mistress by her cheerful conversation, but 
became wearied in mind and body from her ef- 


in the evening; 


forts to entertain the queen, and to repress her 
own sadness. While she was relating a laugh- 
able story, she burst into tears, and Marie Antoi- 
nette, who herself felt very much like weeping, 
The 
queen sat sad and thoughtful, and put herself 
into the hands of her lady-in-waiting, Madame 


permitted her favorite friend to depart. 


Campan. On the toilet-table four tapers were 
burning, shedding a bright light in the quiet cab- 
inet. The queen began to speak of the events of 
the day. 

The residents of the palace of Versailles had 
but a very imperfect knowledge of what hap- 
pened in Paris. Although many reports came of 
the storming of the Bastile, they were kept se- 
cret in the circles of the National Assembly, and 
the few persons at court that knew of it had not 
sufficient resolution to inform their majesties of 
the occurrence. The royal couple, however, knew 
well that, in the present excited state of the capi- 
tal, the worst was to be expected. 

The queen was giving expression to this fear in 


trembling words, when one of the four lights 


228 


upon the table went out, without apparent cause. 
Marie Antoinette noticed it with a sort of ominous 
dread; and, while Madame Campan hastened to 
rekindle it, the second ceased to burn, and imme- 
diately after the third. The queen seized the 
hand of her waiting-womian, saying: “ Misfortune 
If the 
fourth candle also goes out, I shall consider it as 


makes me superstitious, dear Campan. 


an evil presage.” Scarcely had she ceased, before 
the fourth light was extinguished, leaving them in 
darkness!* At the same time the door opened, 
and the voice of the king was heard asking per- 
mission to enter ; he was surprised at the obscu- 
rity, for Madame Campan did not succeed in re- 
lighting the candles until after he gained the mid- 
dle of the apartment, where he was accosted by 
his consort with her pale cheeks wet with tears. 
Louis XVI. smiled when he was told the cause of 
Marie Antoinette’s ¢motion, and invited her to 
take a seat beside him on the sofa. 
_ “Tt is contrary to the habits of your majesty to 
be awake at this hour,” said the queen, in an al- 
most complaining accent. “I hope nothing evil 
has happened to disturb your usual sleep ?” 
“No,” replied the king. “I feel better than 
ever after this terribleday. The inducement was 
great to do evil, but I resisted the clamor of my 
own anger and the advice of my ministers. They 
demanded orders for the troops to move against 
my revolted capital. One thought alone obtained 
the victory. It was this, my dearest queen: that 
my hand must not shed French blood. That must 
henceforth be the first law of all my actions; it 
will lead me aright. My love for France is at 
stake, and that is paramount to all other interests. 
My predecessors permitted themselves to be made 
an object of idolatry to the French; I will reverse 
this relation. I will make them the objects of 
my fervent love. Can they resist that, do you 
think ? And can we not be happy then, Marie?” 
The king took her hand, tenderly pressing it to 
his lips. Marie Antoinette started at the question 
directed to her; sighing, she said: ‘No, my hus- 
band! we cannot be happy. To love the French 


COUNT MIRABEAU. 


is unfortunate; we sacrifice all, cheerfulness, con- 
fidence, and youth. Such love has made me old, 
and it will cost us our lives. 
try hatred ? 
trust, violence with violence!” 


Why can we not 
Let us return distrust with dis- 


*‘T know that is your opinion,” replied Louis, 
suddenly growing very grave and melancholy. 
“You coincide with my ministers; but I am 
obliged to follow my own ideas of prudence, al- 
though opposed to yours. We may yet agree; 
for who knows to what we may soon be driven 
by foolish and thankless men? However, let us 
for a moment forget our cares. Conscious that I 
have performed my duty, I came to get a good- 
night glance from the beautiful eyes of my queen. 
That is why I disturbed you.” 

“Perhaps all ‘may yet be well, my husband,” 
said Marie Antoinette, smiling sorrowfully. “But 
a weapon is used against us which all the power 
Whence 
can you get courage to be yourself, tu let your | 


of the world ‘cannot resist—slander! 


heart—your best thoughts guide you, when you 
are represented as a monster? That is the rea- 
son we must be unhappy.” 

“Yes, it is true, we are the objects of calum- 
ny!” exclaimed the king, springing up, and pac- 
ing the room heavily and awkwardly, as was 
“A false party- 
spirit rumors many absurdities about me,” he 


usual with him when excited. 


continued, in a rough voice. “ They say, for in- 
stance, that I have had the hall of the National 
Assembly undermined, intending to blow them 
up at the earliest opportunity!” 

“Pardon me, your majesty, if I ask permission 
to make a remark!” said Madame Campan, who, 
since the entrance of the king, was standing at the 
door. He kindly nodded to her, and she con- 
tinued: ‘I wished only to say that I supped last 
night with a deputy from Havre, M. Bégouin. 
He is one of the delegates of the Third Estate, 
but a man of honor, as I can assure your majes- 
ties. He told me that many estimable persons 
believe it was done against the knowledge and 


desire of the king.” * 





* “Mémoires de Madame Campan,” vol. ii., p. 38. 





* ““ Mémoires de Madame Campan,”’ vol. ii., ch. xiv. 


LOUIS XVI. AND MARIE ANTOINETTE. 


“But he believed such a foolish and wicked 
deed, your honorable M. Bégouin?” exclaimed 
Louis XVI. 
vincials give credence to such fables, I shall have 


“Very well, if your virtuous pro- 
to do something for my justification. To-morrow, 
at dawn, I will have the floor taken up, and let 
slander see that this time it has missed its aim.” 

The king slowly regained his composure. He 
looked at the queen, who, though veiled in sor- 
row, was not the less lovely.. He approached, 
and, taking her hand, said jestingly: “ And how 
does it happen that persons in the suite of your 
majesty sup with deputies of the Third Estate? 
If that is the case, these delegates cannot be so 
badly off, and I need not repent having permitted 
a double representation to the Commons.” 

Marie Antoinette smiled, and concealed her 
tears. Then she said: “ How happy I was, when 
I did not even know that there was a Third Es- 
tate! I hate the name National Assembly, that 
has cost me so much happiness. It appears that 
‘the Commons have been organized to irritate us? 
Conflicts have begun, showing a Caring spirit, 
and whose aim is the crown of France!” 

“These struggles certainly come very near 
us,” replied Louis. “But their origin is natural 
and honorable. The aristocracy have abused 
their privileges, and have not been examples of 
virtue to the people; they have corrupted public 
morality, and brought monarchy to shame by 
their licentiousness. The nation suffers as well 
as royalty ; and the latter need not fear the peo- 
ple—it calls them rather to its assistance. The 
Third Estate will become the firm pillar of the 
throne, while maintaining their own rights. We 
avoid civil war, if the nobility and the citizens 
meet for deliberation; and the clergy, if they 
carry out their mission, must also join the Com- 
mons. We have an opportunity of coming to a 
good understanding by means of the assembly. 
And why can we not succeed? Why must poi- 
sonous weeds grow with the blossoming fruit ?” 

“Your heart is great, my husband!” said 
Marie.Antoinette, gently. “But if you give way 
to sentiment in these times, we perish. Your 
majesty would govern as they do in Great Britain, 





229 


and that is magnanimous on your part, but I fear 
that the English constitution does not suit the 
French. I am glad on that account that we have 
dismissed Necker, for he was always endeavoring 
more or less to introduce that system into your 
councils. My opinion is different. My first prin- 
ciple is, that we must make no alliance with our 
natural enemies. You know I was always a 
friend of liberty. Did I not plead for the ban- 
ished Parliaments? But at this crisis more is at 
stake than merely the rights of the Commons. 
The foes of the throne have assumed the mask 
of the Third Estate, and have reached our persons, 
An open warfare must be waged, and we must 
resist, unless we consent to be dragged from our 
position!” 

“The Third Estate are not enemies of royalty,” 
said the king, after a pause. “I know them; 
formerly I had some intercourse with them, and 
observed them well. Labor is the blessing of 
those classes ; it gives them a consciousness of 
their power, united with respect for the rights 
of others,” 

“Your majesty has not forgotten that you 
learned the trade of a locksmith while dauphin,” 
said the queen, smiling, “and you have an amia- 
ble prejudice in favor of the working-classes, dis- 
covering good traits in them that are invisible to 
me.” 

“T think of those days with regret,” said the 
“Yes, I had confidence in the 


tradesmen and laborers working in the palace and 


king, dreamily. 


gardens, and whom I studied for days. How 
happy I was, when I could assist them in raising 
a stone or a beam!* And when I was appren- 
ticed to the smith Gamin, he treated me with 
great severity.’ I think, however, it was good for 
me; I wished to be in my turn austere, to realize 
the desires of my youth for order and virtue, and 
to be designated ‘ the severe ;’ to resist vigorously 
the dissipation of the court was my most cherished 
object.” 

“Your trade did your majesty some harm,” 
said Marie Antoinette, “ for it spoiled your hands, 





* Soulavie, vol. ii., p. 41. 


230 


which became so blackened as never to have re- 
covered their whiteness. I often called you ‘my 
god Vulcan.’ ” 

“Do you think Ican ever forget it?” asked 
the king, with a smile. ‘‘ Oh, in those days we 
were very hopeful, and, because we loved one 
another, we confided in all, sincerely thinking 
that they were in harmony with us. Since then, 
it has become more difficult to believe in our good 
star.” 

“In what are we to believe, if that becomes 
extinguished, as my lights did a little while ago?” 
replied: the queen. ‘But now, good-night, my 
best friend. It is past midnight, and you require 
sleep. Who knows what storms may awaken you 
before to-morrow’s sun ?” 

‘“‘ If to-morrow I find you as now, there can be 
no storms for me,” replied the king, tenderly em- 
bracing his wife. They quickly separated, retiring 
to their different chambers. 

The monarch had slept but a few hours, when 
he heard a noise near his bed. He recognized 
his valet de chambre, who in great consternation 
announced the Duke de Liancourt, grand master 
of the wardrobe to his majesty. The duke was 
in the antechamber, and urgently desired an im- 
The king was startled, and 
mused a moment; then he rose, ordering the 
valet to proceed with his toilet; Liancourt was 
told to await him in the adjoining apartment, 
On 


entering, it was at once noticed that the duke was 


mediate audience. 


where his majesty wished to receive him. 
pale, and trembling with apprehension. He was 
well known as a devoted servant of his royal 
master. 

“ What has happened, my friend?” asked the 
king, hastily. 

“ Sire,” replied Liancourt, in a low voice,” by 
virtue of my position, which gives me access to 
your majesty, I have undertaken to inform you 
of what has been fully confirmed, and is so shock- 
ing that it would be criminal longer to keep you 
in ignorance of it.” 

“ Are you speaking of events that have taken 
place in the capital? ” 

“T was told that your majesty had as yet re- 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


ceived no reports,” continued the duke. And yet 
The 
people have stormed-and destroyed the Bastile. 


what occurred yesterday in Paris is awful. 


This was known here as a rumor yesterday before 
nightfall. 
rier declaring that it is true. 


I have, however, just received a cou- 
I consider it my 
The 
taking of the prison-fortress in the capital is only 


duty as a faithful subject to inform you. 


an item of the dreadful deeds accompanying the 
assault. The gory heads of Delaunay and Fles- 
selles were paraded on pikes by the maddened 
mob; some of the garrison of the Bastile have 
been massacred; the venerable invalids hanged 
on lamp-posts ; the French guards have deserted 


the colors of their lord and king; 


@; among the rest 


of the troops, disloyalty is rampant; the armed 
inhabitants of Paris, camping in the streets, are 
supposed to number two hundred thousand men. 
We fear a universal insurrection to-night! ” 

The monarch listened sadly. His countenance 
was pale, but his demeanor calm. “So this is a 
revolt!” he said, after a pause, as if awaking from 
his abstraction. - 

“No, sire,” replied the duke, “it is a revolu- 
tion!” * 

“The queen was right,” said Louis XVI. te 
himself. “‘I have allowed the time for action to 
pass. A vast loss of life would be necessary to 
avenge the mischief done. But my mind is re- 
solved ; the blood of the French shall not be shed.” 

“Sire,” exclaimed Liancourt, solemnly, “ the 
weal or woe of France and the royal family de- 
pends on the decision of your majesty. I must be 
frank. The greatest danger threatens if you fol- 
low the faithless counsels of your ministers. I 
bless the moment that gives me an opportunity to 
see your majesty alone, and to appeal to your own 
judgment and heart. The spirit of insurrection 
developed in Paris will gain ground. I conjure 
you to make your appearance at once in the Na- 
tional Assembly, and speak the word of peace. 
Your presence will almost work miracles—it will 
disarm parties, and make the deputies the best 


friends of the crown.” 





* Weber, “* Mémoires,”’ vol. i, p. 385. 


LOUIS XVI. AND MARIE ANTOINETTE. 


The king looked at the duke searchingly ; he 
seemed touched by the youthful enthusiasm of 
Liancourt, and said, gently: ‘ You are one of the 
most influential members of the National Assem- 
bly. Can you give me your word that my personal 
appearance will be regarded, as I intend it, for the 
interests of the crown and the well-being of 
France?” 

“We long day after day for a word from your 
majesty,” exclaimed Liancourt. “ The doubts and 
disunions among the delegates are growing every 
hour, and ean only be allayed by your gracious 
The 


morning session will commence in a few hours; 


countenance. Let it shine on us to-day! 
its deliberations will take an unhappy direction 
unless you present yourself.” 

The door opened, and the Counts de Provence 
and d’Artois entered ; they seemed highly excited, 
and from their demeanor it was evident that the 
news Liancourt came to announce to the king was 
already known to them. The duke approached 

-the Count d’Artois, saying in a very decided tone: 
“ Prince! the people have outlawed you! I read 
the placard announcing the fact!” 

The prince started and moved perplexed into 
the middle of the room. “It is well, that they 
do this!’’ he*said, composing himself. “I de- 
clare open war against them, as they do against 
me. They desire my head, and I theirs. Why 
do we not shoot them down? A firm policy—no 
concessions to their fantasies about liberty, and 
well-served cannon, alone can save us!” 

“ His majesty has come to different conclusions !” 
said Liancourt, bowing low to the king, who stood 
with folded arms, in a dignified attitude. 

“T request my brothers to accompany me this 
morning to the Assembly of Estates !” said Louis, 
firmly. ‘‘I intend to announce to the mem- 
bers that the troops shall be withdrawn. This 
will prove to them that they may terminate their 
deliberations in peace; for I have no higher aim 
than to discover through them the will of the 
nation.” 

The Count d’Artois stepped back in astonish- 
ment. His countenance, generally expressive of 
levity, was full of disappointment and sarcasm. 





231 


The Count de Provence received the words of the 
king in a very different manner. He approached 
his brother quickly, pressing his hand in friendly 
approval: “This step of your majesty,” he said, 
“has become necessary from the pressure of cir- 
cumstances, and may effect a reconciliation. You 
know that, although from principle a partisan of 
the absolute power of the throne, I pronounced 
myself in favor of the double representation of the 
Third Estate. 


History seems to be trying old experiments again, 


We live in extraordinary times. 


and we must apparently grant every thing to the 
people; they will the sooner advance so far and 
no farther, where they of their own accord will be 
likely to return to obedience.” 

A commotion took place in the anteroom— 
quick steps and many voices could be heard. The 
door opened, and Marie Antoinette entered with 
some of her immediate attendants. ‘Does your 
majesty know what has occurred?” she asked, 
seizing the king’s hand with tearful eyes. 

“ All will soon again be well,” said her husband. 
“We have nothing with which to reproach our- 
selves—that is in our favor. Iam going to the 
National Assembly, and will give them evidence 
of my personal confidence, by ordering the re- 
moval of the soldiery from Paris and Versailles.” 

The queen looked at her husband .in amaze- 
ment; then, dropping his hand, she stood with 
bowed head, and a profound and painful expres- 
sion on her countenance. ‘‘ Your majesty makes 
an irretrievable fact of the revolution by this ac- 
“ And 


I am sorry, sire, that you again place your foot in 


tion,” she said, slowly raising her eyes. 


an assembly among whose members are so many 
captious and inimical men. The resolution you 
made last month, of dissolving the sessions, ought 
to have been executed.” 

“ Are there really so many bad members among 
the deputies ?” asked the king, smiling. ‘I see 
two of the delegates here, who indeed are very 
amiable men, and whose presence inspires me 
with courage—I mean my old and faithful friend’ 
the Duke de Liancourt; and, in your majesty’s 
own suite, the brave Count de la Marek, whom I 


welcome heartily.” Tbe king approached a cava- 


232 


lier who was distinguished as much by his tall and 
slender figure as by his attractive and polite man- 
ners. 

Count de la Marck, Prince d’Arenberg, was 
about thirty-six years old, maintaining a promi- 
nent position in court society. He belonged to a 
noble family, originally from Brussels, who had 
performed signal services for the Austrian imperial 
house. After passing through a military career, 

the Empress Maria Theresa gave him special let- 
ters of recommendation, and he arrived in France 
at the same time that Marie Antoinette became 
dauphiness. 

“ May I not expect some favor from your col- 
leagues, M. de la Marck ?” asked the king, kindly. 

“« Sire,” replied the count, courteously, ‘ I know 
no one in that incongruous assembly who would 
close his heart against the appeal of his sovereign. 
The aristocracy, on whose side I sit, will be con- 
firmed in their loyalty, the clergy will thank God 
for an interposition that will bring peace, and the 
Third Estate will have to own that every thing 
good proceeds from their king.” 

“ But there are evil-minded men at the head of 
the Commons, like Count Mirabeau,” said the 
queen, hastily. 

“Count Mirabeau is not that,” replied La Marck, 
smiling. “I look upon him, in fact, as the future 
prop of royalty in France.” 

“T have always felt an unutterable horror in 
reference to that man, whenever his name is 
“Why did 


not your majesty send him away as ambassador 


mentioned,” said Marie Antoinette. 


to Constantinople, or any other city—a position 
he would gladly have accepted ?” 

“T may not treat personally with my oppo- 
“That would be like a 
duel which the crown fights with individuals.— 
But I think it is time to attend the session. 


Their royal highnesses the Counts de Provence 


nents,” replied Louis. 


and d’Artois will accompany me. I charge the 
Duke de Liancourt with the commission to an- 
nounce to the assembly that I shall be present at 
He dismissed the 


company, taking a tender leave of his consort, 


to-day’s meeting in person,” 


who had never seen the king so decided and con- 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


fident. She almost felt at ease, but her doubts 
and eares soon returned, and she left in agitation 
and sorrow. 

At the session of the National Assembly, vio- 
lent debates arose as to the order and importance 
of the proceedings. After the reading of several 
outlines as a base for another address to the king, 
Mirabeau suddenly interrupted the useless busi- 
ness of the members, and denounced the style 
and meaning of their remarks to his majesty with 

His flashing eyes 
The hall which until 
now was the scene of angry commotion, suddenly 
became so still that a breath could be heard. 
Even a whisper in some corner was silenced by a 


an irresistible eloquence. 
showed his excitement. 


call to order. 

Mirabeau regarded his audience for a moment, 
and then began in a sonorous voice: ‘ M. Presi- 
dent, let us say nothing to the king, except that 
the foreign hordes by which we are surrounded 
received yesterday a visit from the princes and 
princesses, and all the courtiers, as well as their 
caresses, exhortations, and presents !—that these 
executioners, flushed with wine and their pockets 
filled with gold, all night long sang of the subju- 
gation of France, and in the coarsest language de- 
manded the dissolution of this assembly—that 
the inmates of his own palace danced to their 
outlandish music, and supposed that the bloody 
orgies were at hand of another St. Bartholomew’s 
night. Tell him that Henry IV. (whose memory 
we all bless, and whom Louis XVI. intended to 
make his model) once sent provisions into Paris 
while the city was in insurrection, and he himself 
besieging it; but that the present king’s advisers 
adopt a contrary policy, and forbid the entrance 
of the necessaries of life into the starved and 
faithful capital!” * 

Great sensation ensued, which was still in- 
creased; for scarcely had Mirabeau concluded, 
amid loud applause, when the Duke de Liancourt 
entered the hall. 
tribune, he announced the king’s intention to be 


Ascending the steps of the 


present at the session then in progress. 





* Mirabeau’s speech in the session of the National 
Assembly, July 15th, 1789. 


~ 


LOUIS XVI. AND MARIE ANTOINETTE. 


There was as much astonishment as uneasiness 
at this news. The members left their seats, 
standing in groups to exchange opinions at this 
unexpected turn of affairs, and arrange their pro- 
ceedings in advance. Very few scemed to be 
really glad, and they expressed themselves grate- 
ful to his majesty for acceding to the wishes of 
the nation. The democratic party were nearly all 
discontented. The Duke d’Orleans stood in one 
corner with Sigyes and Latouche, who showed by 
gloomy faces and expressive gestures their vexa- 
tion and embarrassment. They appeared to be 
reproaching each other that they had not by some 
decided act prevented any possibility of a recon- 
ciliation of the people with the king. The aris- 
tocracy and court party appeared even more dis- 
concerted. They considered this movement of 
his majesty momentous, because it indicated that 
he would abandon his friends. 

Among the deputies, as usual, many members 


from the clubs at Paris and Versailles were seen, 


“who latterly found their way into the sessions. 


The Club Breton was at that time beginning to 
exert an influence upon the assembly, and had ap- 
pointed a committee from among themselves as 
constant visitors, who aided not a little in pro- 
It was believed 
that this club made use of the aspirations of the 


moting irresolution and disorder. 


Duke d’Orleans, as to the throne of France, for 
their own purposes, and at this time the men sent 
by the club were making themselves very busy 
around him, as he stood deliberating with his 
partisans how they should receive the king. 

This question was the subject of conversation, 
when Mirabeau again ascended the tribune, saying 
in a voice that commanded attention: “ Let us 
receive his majesty with silent respect. At a mo- 
ment of universal grief, silence is the best rebuke 
a people can offer a king!” 

These words were received with a storm of ap- 
plause. The noise had not ceased when Louis 
XVI. entered, accompanied by his brothers, and 
without other attendants. His appearance made 
such an impression that, in spite of all previous 
calculations of the different parties, the oft-re- 


peated cry, “ Long live the king!” resounded on 





233 


all sides. He stood in the midst of the assem 
bly, in an unembarrassed attitude, and with un 
covered head. An easy-chair was placed for him 
upon the estrade, but he did not seat himself, un- 
ceremoniously beginning to speak ina truly pater- 
nal style. 

The king called himself the chief of the na- 
tion, coming to the representatives to express 
his sorrow for what had occurred, and asking 
them to find means for the reéstablishment of 
order. Almost all faces expressed satisfaction at 


this. In a melancholy voice he referred to the 


reports current as to the personal security of the 


deputies; reminding them of his “well-known 
character,” he said that it was unnecessary for 
“ Ah t ” 


he exclaimed, ‘‘it is I who have to confide in 


him to refute such criminal suspicion, 


you! Assist me, in these difficult circumstances, 
to confirm the well-being of the state! I expect 
this from the National Assembly.” Then he 
added, in a tone of touching sadness: “ Relying 
on the love and fidelity of my subjects, I have 
given orders that the troops be withdrawn from 
Paris and Versailles ; and I request and empowet 
you to make this known in the capital.” 

The king’s speech was interrupted by many ex- 
clamations of joy and enthusiasm, and at the end 
After the 
Archbishop of Vienne expressed the thanks of 


applauded in a rapturous manner. 


the delegates in a few words, his majesty pre- 
pared to leave. All present arose to follow him ; 
in silence they arranged themselves, so as to form 
an escort for their sovereign, who intended to re- 
turn on foot to the palace. 

The excitement of the moment seemed to have 
conquered even the most stubborn, A vast mul- 
titude outside, awaiting the result of this unex- 
ampled incident, and beholding the king emerge 
from the hall, surrounded by the National Assem- 
bly, joined the procession, incessantly erying: 
“ Long live the king!” “ Long live the nation!” 
On the Place d’Armes stood the body-guards and 
the Swiss and French regiments, who, when they 
saw the strange cortége, caught the general en- 
thusiasm, and celebrated with drum and trumpet 
the reconciliation of the king with his subjects. 


234 


On the large balcony of the palace of Versailles 
stood the queen, awaiting her husband’s return. 
She was drawn from her cabinet, where she sat 
in sad foreboding, by the exclamations which 
seemed so cheering to her. She held the dauphin 
in her arms, and little madame by the hand. Ma- 
rie Antoinette’s eyes sparkled with joy when she 
saw the king at the head of the procession. She 
had not looked so happy for many a day. 

“Her majesty looks well!’ said Mirabeau to 
the Abbé Siéyes, at whose side he was walking. 
“She is showing her dauphin to the people, and 
the smile of a Madonna transfigures her beautiful 
countenance.” | 

“ But the people cease their rejoicings as soon 
“The 
picture on the balcony is filling up—there are 


as they behold the queen,” replied Siéyes. 


the two younger princes, raising their arms to the 
little dauphin to kiss him. The masses, however, 
are not touched by such scenes—there is no sign 
of respect or love from them. It is evident that 
she has lost favor.” 

“The 
queen must be supported, whatever may happen! 


“No!” said Mirabeau, impetuously. 


I see you are the real woman-hater you are said 
to be. 
falling, and the people are obdurate Frenchmen ; 


But look at her majesty! Her tears are 
the most gallant and sensitive community on the 
globe, are silent when a woman and a queen ap- 
peals to them!” The count was so intent in his 
adoration of Marie Antoinette, that he did not hear 
the reply of Siéyes. 

The crowd disappeared, having it understood to 
the last moment that their devotion was exclu- 
sively given to the king. Toward evening the 
square before the palace was deserted. Only the 
sentinels paced before the principal | gates, and 
Versailles seemed to have regained all its former 
quiet and solemnity. 

Later in the evening, several closed travelling- 
carriages, loaded with trunks, left the inner court- 
yards of the palace as fast and noiselessly-as pos- 
sible, taking the highway leading in the opposite 
direction from the capital. In them were the 
Count d’Artois, the Dukes d’Angouléme, de Ber- 
ry, de Bourbon, and d’Enghein, and the Prince de 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


Condé, who were preparing to leave the kingdom 
secretly. Louis XVI. himself advised his brother 
to pass some time in foreign lands until happier 
The 
other princes, although not threatened in the 


and more quiet days again blessed France. 


same way (the head of the Count d’Artois being 
demanded by the populace of Paris), were so- 
overwhelmed by fear that, with the exception of 
the Count de Provence, all joined in the flight. 
The new minister followed them on the next day, 
The latter handed in their resignations, in accord- 
ance with the wishes of the National Assembly, 
but they did not consider themselves safe until far 
beyond the walls of the capital, filled as it was 
with material that might involve it in destruction 
at any moment. 

The king resolved to recall Necker, desiring to 
prove in this way to the people that he would 
make every reasonable concession. But all was 
done in great haste—the sovereign would gladly 
have impoverished himself for his subjects, if 
thereby he could have assured their happiness. 
While in this frame of mind, he concluded to go 
to the capital, and endeaver by his presence to 
allay the revolution. All day he took counsel 
with the queen concerning the prudence of this 
step. At night, while taking leave of the Duchess 
de Polignac, he could not refrain from tears. 
Marie Antoinette entreated her dear friend to 
withdraw from France, with her sister and hus- 
band. Both the sovereigns perceived that with 
the new era that had commenced they must part 
with all they formerly loved. 

On the same day, the deputation from the Na- 
tional Assembly, headed by Lafayette, and accom- 
panied by many inhabitants from Versailles, de- 
parted to announce the good intentions of the king 
at Paris. 
people, but had to climb over the barricades that 
obstructed the streets. Arrived at the Hotel de 
Ville, after numerous hinderances, Lafayette re- 
ported the royal speech with his usual eloquence. 
He was answered by vivats for Louis XVI. and 
No better man than La- 


They were. received in triumph by the 


the National Assembly. 
fayette could at that moment have been sent to 
Paris, for he had the confidence of all—the lower 


LOUIS XVI. AND MARIE ANTOINETTE. 


classes considered him as best fitted to be in- 
trusted with their affairs, and to obtain for them 
The 
president of the Paris electors, Moreau de Saint- 


the rights for which they appealed to arms. 


Méry, pointed to a.bust of the general, in the 
great hall of the Hétel de Ville, which the Amer- 
ican State of Virginia had presented to the city 
of Paris, in 1784. Shouts resounded in every di- 
rection, and Lafayette was chosen by acclamation 
commanding general of the Paris citizen militia, 
an organization which was to be enlarged and 
designated the National Guards. 
his sword, and, returning thanks, took an oath to 
devote his life to the defence of liberty.* 

The second important nomination, made on the 


Lafayette drew 


same day, was that of the deputy Bailly as mayor 
of Paris. He had been president of that decisive 
session in the ballroom when the delegates of 
the Third Estate swore not to dissolve until they 
had attained their object. Mirabeau had been 
invited to become a candidate for the office of 
mayor, but he neglected to make his appearance 
at the city hall, although he was assured that 
there was no doubt of his election. 

The king left forthe capital the 17th of July, 
after having partaken of the sacrament. He took 
a painful and tender leave of the queen, who re- 





* Lafayette, “ Mémoires,” vol. ii., p. 259. 





235 


mained at Versailles. A small detachment of his 
body-guards accompanied, who very suddenly 
abandoned him on his arrival at the Barriére de 
la Conférence, when he found himself surrounded 
by his other rebellious soldiers. The cannon 
taken from the Bastile moved before his carriage, 
with their muzzles toward him. Louis XVI. sat 
with woeful feelings in the midst of these trophies, 
of the revolution. He could not deny in his own 
mind that a strange and adverse condition of af- 
fairs existed, and that he entered Paris as a pris- 
oner brought before his judge. 

The people, however, did homage to their sov- 
ereign, on his arrival at the Hdtel de Ville, in 
their usual riotous exclamations. He uttered no 
word, but his silence and princely bearing were 
eloquent, and his glances responded to every cry 
that came from the multitude. All acted as if a 
treaty of peace had been concluded between the 
king and his subjects, and Louis was well content 
to permit this. apparent explanation to remain. 
It was not until evening that he could return to 
Versailles. | 

“ Sire, you have become the King of the Com- 
mons,” said Marie Antoinette, with a smile both 
sarcastic and sad, as she received her husband, 
after anxiously awaiting him all day. 

“Tet them call me what they please,” said 
Louis, “if France is only happy!” 


THE LAST DAYS OF MIRABEAU. 





CHAPTER XXXVII. 
THE ARISTOCRATS, 


MrraBeEav accepted an invitation to dinner at 
the house of Count de la Marck, with whom he 
had lately become rather intimate, although they 
belonged to opposite parties; but this seemed to 
have a peculiar charm, attracting them only the 
more toward each other. 

“Tt is strange, count, that you have asked me 
to dine here to-day,” said Mirabeau, entering the 
brilliant drawing-room, in which several other 
guests had already gathered, mostly members 
of the National Assembly. 
wonderful that I accepted it, as we have such an 


“ And it is still more 


important session on this 4th of August!” he 
added, smiling. 

“We are taking a holiday, gentlemen!” said 
La Marck, quietly. ‘“ We cannot be so unselfish 
as our colleagues, who are throwing away the 
rights and privileges of a thousand years’ inher- 
Who knows 


how long the enragés on both sides, this night at- 


itance; let us at least eat in peace. 


tacking all property, will leave us any thing to 
enjoy? It will soon be considered a feudal priv- 
ilege if you call a good appetite your own!” 

“A man who has never suffered from indiges- 
tion will, in that sense, always fight for feudal 
“Tt is a fact, 
however, that I would have remained at home in 


privileges,” said Mirabeau, lightly. 


painful solitude, if I had not the pleasure of being 





in the present company; for on no account would 
I have attended to-day’s session.” 

“ Bravo, Count Mirabeau!” exclaimed the Duke 
de Lauzun, shaking thé count’s hand in a very 
friendly manner. 

“JT do not deserve your approbation,” replied 
Mirabeau, with a ceremonious bow. ‘Iam cer- 
tainly an opponent of those who decree the abo- 
lition of feudal rights and certain privileges of 
rank—for they have been well earned. I have 
not attended, because it is distressing to me to see 
the National Assembly attempting such dangerous 
business; for it is not safe to undermine a foun- 
dation where you intend to raise a new edifice. 
If I resist this measure, it would hurt me in the 
eyes of the people, who consider me their friend, 
and to whom I yet hope to be useful. The depu- 
ties are perpetrating their first political blunder, 
but I shall endeavor to drag them from the abyss 
on whose brink they are tottering. I spare my- 
self, therefore, on this occasion.—And what may 
be the cause of your absence, gentlemen ? ” 

“We only wish to have the pleasure of dining 
with Count Mirabeau in the capacity of fellow-suf- 
ferers,” said La Marck, taking the count’s arm 
“We 
do not agree with the right, you do not with the 


and conducting him to the dining-room. 


left ; is not that a cause for mutual affliction ? ” 
The company seated themselves at the table. 
The banquet was intended only for a few select 
friends, but it did not detract from the reputation 
of the host, who was famous for his parliamentary 


THE ARISTOCRATS. 


dinners. The guests comprised, besides the Duke 
de Lauzun and Mirabeau, the Duke d’Arenberg, 
an elder brother of Count de Ja Marck, the Count 


d’Esears, one of the gentlemen of honor of the | 


Count d’Artois, General-Lieutenant Count de 
Grammont, the Marquis Foucault de Lardimalie, 
the Prince de Poix, and a few others, all aristo- 
cratic members of the National Assembly. 

“T was expecting the Abbé Siéyes,” said the 
“ He did not in- 
tend to be present at to-day’s session, but I sup- 
pose the sense of his duty to the Third Estate 
drove him to his bench. - Or maybe he will come 
late to contribute his intellectual silence, for this 


host, pointing to a vacant chair. 


man’s taciturnity accelerates and controls con- 
versation, you hardly know how.” 

“Tam aware that some one will be very mis- 

erable at Count Mirabeau’s absence from the Na- 
tional Assembly,” said the Duke de Lauzun, 
always ready for a jest—-“the lady in black, 
who never fails to be among the spectators, and 
“when the count casts his thunderbolts among us, 
her eyes flash as the lightning. Who in the world 
is this interesting incognita, count? I met her 
yesterday at the warehouse of the statuary Palloy, 
who has worked such fine busts from pieces 
of the ruined Bastile.* She was buying a Mir- 
abeau hewn from a gray stone of that former 
prison fortress.” 

“That lady in black was my wife, from whom 
I am divorced, gentlemen,” replied Mirabeau, 

“T do not think she goes to the debates 
in the Salle des Menus on my account. She always 


quietly. 


took an interest in politics.” 

“ No,” rejoined Lauzun, “a lady does not pur- 
chase the bust of a man unless she adores him. 
Besides, these things are exceedingly expensive. 
It seems the revolution values very highly the de- 
struction it has caused. Although I am an old 
aristocratic sinner, I wished to have one of those 
pieces of art chiselled from some fragment of the 
‘tyrant’s stronghold,’ as itis now called. I fancied 
I could best associate the reverence I feel for my 
ancestors with a Voltaire, andso I bought the old 





* Condorcet, ‘‘ Mémoires,” vol. ii., p. 74. 





237 


joker, from whom came originally all this trouble 
now surrounding us. But I had to pay three hun- 
dred francs for the author of ‘ Candide,’ though 
the material is not worth a sou.” 

“Not a sou?” asked Mirabeau, smiling. “It 
has cost France much more. I purchased a Rous 
seau, manufactured from the same material, and 
placed him near my inkstand, on my desk at the 
session-hall. It is strange that the busts of Necker 
find no ready sale. The people received him on 
his recall in great triumph, but they seem to have 
cooled suddenly toward him. The commotion is 
beyond that minister now, and he will probably 
soon be pensioned off, as he is no longer of any 
use.” 

“ On this day another Bastile is stormed, gentle- 
men—the feudal rights,” said the Marquis Fou- 
cault de Lardimalie, with an expression of solem- 
nity. “But I think they cannot be as easily razed 
and carried away as the fortress in the Rue St. 
Antoine. Feudal rights are the bone and sinew 
of the state, for without vassalage, ground-rents, 
tithes, rights of jurisdiction and of the chase, ex- 
emption from taxation, and unrestrained personal 
liberties, the monarchy cannot live. And all this, 
which it has taken centuries to establish, the men 
in the Salle des Menus expect: to destroy in one 
night. Any nobleman giving his consent to such 
a crime, ought to be branded as a sacrilegious 
wretch.” 

“ And yet two noblemen are the originators of 
the parliamentary folly of this night,” said Mira- 
beau. “Those propositions did not come from 
the left side; but your party, gentlemen, has 
evoked them against yourselves. I am almost 
sorry that the division of right and left was made. 
Thence sprang the confusion now reigning; for 
there are democrats on your side as there are aris- 
The Viscount de Noailles and 
the Duke d’Aiguillon, who made the motion for 


tocrats on mine. 


the abolition of the customs of the feudal system, 
both sit on the right, while Siéyes and myself sit 
as opponents on the other side.” 

“The real incendiary is the Viscount de Noa- 
illes,” said the bost. “He is a young and light- 


headed officer, possessing nothing, and of course 


238 


having nothing to lose, who was more attracted 
by the idea of popularity than the costly wines he 
drank at the table of the Duke d’Aiguillon, whose 
The duke is the richest feudal 
lord ofthe French monarchy, and would surrender 


companion he is, 


much inthe way of privileges and income, if the 
‘altar of his country,’ as he calls it, demands the 
But Noailles is the chief fanatic, who 
would rush into destruction and drag others with 
him.” 

** Noailles is a brother-in-law of the Marquis de 
Lafayette,” said the Prince de Poix. “ And he 
has been misled by the example of the latter to 
court popular favor. 


sacrifice. 


The poor viscount will not 
fill his empty pockets in that way. These fools 
suppose they can deprive us even of our right of 
the chase, the most coveted privilege of the aris- 
tocracy. Ifa nobleman cannot shoot a deer when 
he has a chance, all knightly virtues are at an 
end, and the mere mob become confounded with 
the nobility. The chase has its advantages, not 
only in preserving the character of the aristocracy, 
but benefiting that of the lower classes. If the 
hunt leads, for example, through the ripening field 
of a peasant, less bread is the result, and this, in 
view of hunger, renders him more obedient and 
faithful. But let no one suppose that starvation 
The well-fed canaille 
are by far the more dangerous. When the people 


has caused this revolution. 


are satisfied, they desire to dance; when they are 
permitted to dance, they desire to: crown them- 
selves.” 

There was some merriment at the comic remarks 
of the captain of the body-guards and governor of 
Versailles, who was at the same time busily en- 
gaged in carving a capon. 

“We ought not to laugh, for the case is very 
“ Just before the 
departure of Count d’Artois I had a philosophical 
conversation with his royal highness on this mat- 


serious,” said Count d’Escars. 


ter. We agreed that it was. not a conflict about 
privileges that was raging in France as well as in 
other parts of the world. No, gentlemen, it is a 
war of races that has broken out among us—two 
distinct races are disputing for sovereignty. And 


are we not different from the lower classes? Our 





COUNT MIRABEAUD. 


faces, noses, hands, and feet, are not like theirs ; 
our whole structure is of another pattern, and why 
cannot we have exclusive pretensions and rights ?” 

* All depends on family,” said Count de Gram- 
mont, ina low voice. “I have no doubt that a 
chemical analysis would prove that the blood of 
the aristocracy is composed of different ingredients 
from that of the people—that it is of a deeper color 
A man who has a 
vital fluid like that of a fish, cannot be considered 
or treated as a lion. 


and a higher temperature. 


It is easily comprehended, 
therefore, that vassalage is a law of Nature that 
demands respect!” 

“Gentlemen,” said Mirabeau, “ we should not 
draw too strong inferences from what we merely 
owe to the accident of birth. I own that I would 
rather be a count than a day-laborer; for a noble- 
man is necessarily a man of honor, having a char- 
acter which he is obliged to maintain in society. 
We ought to renew our titles from the people, 
We would 
be greater after having aided in founding a nat- 
ural liberty for the nation, but we shall remain 
aristocrats !” 


whose protectors and leaders we are. 


“Your view contains as much prudence as good- 
nature,” said La Marck. ‘ We ought to rejoice 
at the labor suggested to us by Count Mirabeau. 
But would it not be rather dangerous to bestow 
privileges on the lower classes? I am afraid we 
While we looked on 


to see how they enjoyed them, we might very 


would not gain much by it. 


possibly starve!” 

“We know you mean well, Count Mirabeau,” 
said the Prince de Poix, “ but you have already 
You 
are said to be the instigator of the incendiarism 


exposed yourself to the worst suspicions. 
now raging in the provinces. You are accused 
of secretly inciting the peasants in all parts of 
France to rise against their landlords, to destroy 
their obligations to duty, and burn down the 
You 
may despise this calumny, but you see how haz- 


castles of those to whom they owe service. 


ardous it is to become a leader of the people. 
They do not become ennobled simply because 
they are under the guidance of a count, but he is 
very likely to deteriorate.” 


> 
~ 


THE ARISTOCRATS. 


“You are witty, prince,” replied Mirabeau, 
gravely, “hut you may soon know from sad ex- 
perience that these things are not matters of jest. 
You do not suppose me to be an incendiary; and 
you see I prefer to dine here rather than help to 
overthrow in the National Assembly the privileges 
I think that the relations 
of proprietor and tenant, when they are burden- 


of landed proprietors. 


some, can only be ameliorated by a free constitu- 
tion; but that a coup de thédtre scattering honest 
possessions and destroying inherited rights should 
not be made. You will, however, have to make 
some sacrifices, whenever the right time comes, 
gentlemen! The Prince de Poix has a very slen- 
der and aristocratic neck, and it would be a pity 
if it should ever make the acquaintance of a lamp- 
post!” | 

“That would be unpleasant, particularly as I 
am rather sensitive in that region under such cir- 
cumstances,” said the prince, rubbing his neck 


with both hands. The conversation took a less 


serious turn, and midnight approached. 


Suddenly the door opened and the Abbé Siéyes 
entered, in ill-concealed excitement, giving to his 
generally calm and stern air a very strange ap- 
pearance. He refused to take the place reserved 
for him at the table, excusing himself while he 
took a seat on a corner sofa, 

“Task pardon for coming so late,” said the 
abbé to La Marck. “Iwas present as a spec- 
tator at the hall of the National Assembly. I 
wished to witness the battle for a moment, al- 
though I neither would nor.could take a part in 
it. The sight, however, so overpowered me that 
I was not able to leave in time to accept your 
invitation, At length I crept away in the confu- 
sion—wounded, though not one of the combatants. 
They are still hard at work in the direction of all 
rights of property; one resolution after another is 
passed amid the utmost confusion, and the hall 
resounds with noisy passion.” 

The company left their seats and surrounded the 
alarmed and exhausted abbé, many questions 
He could but im- 
perfectly reply, as he was not only fatigued, but 
irritable on account of what had occurred. 


being asked at the same time. 





239 


“Their conduct, in some respects, was really 
touching,” resumed Siéyes, in a voice gentler than 
was customary with him. “It was remarkable 
how one influenced another, in sacrificing well- 
founded rights, showing himself magnanimous at 
A contagious fever 
raged among them, and it was difficult to escape. 
After the abolition of feudal rights, tithes, and all 


provincial privileges, were decreed in extraordinary 


the expense of his neighbor. 


haste, many of the deputies embraced and wept 
with joy. Other questions were brought. up in 
the midst of this enthusiasm, involving matters 
declared burdensome to the people, and in a mo- 
ment disposed of without consideration or under- 
standing. As soon as one was decided, another 
was ready; and so it will continue until daybreak, 
when probably regret for what was done during 
the night will make many a delegate ill!” 

‘¢ We can very well understand that the abbé 
must have felt sadly the abolition of tithes,” said 
the Prince de Poix. ‘ However, as he is the lib- 
erator of the Third Estate, he should be willing 
to sacrifice a little filthy lucre for such an 
honor!” 

“Do you think that it is pecuniary interest that 
makes me an opponent of such measures?” ex- 
claimed Siéyes, rising impulsively. ‘No, gen- 
tlemen, it is my hatred of landed proprietors ; 
for to abolish tithes without indemnification is 
robbing the clergy and enriching the landlords. 
But what has that to do with the Commons? 
Ah, 
they desire to be free, and know not how to be 
just!” * 


“ Believe me, this night session is nothing but 


These men are driven by a political spirit. 


an intrigue of the Duke d’Orleans!” exclaimed 
Mirabeau. ‘Messrs. de Noailles and d’Aiguillon, 
I know, dined every day at his house during the 
past week, and the whole plan was arranged at 
his table. 


for remaining away from the debates. 


That was one of my principal reasons 
The duke 
failed in his ambition of being proclaimed lieu- 





* ‘Tis veulent étre libres, et ils ne savent pas étre 
justes.’°—With these words Siéyes closed his speech 
against the abolition of tithes, held at the special ses- 
sion on the 4th of August.—Vide Dumont, ‘‘Souve- 
nirs,”’ p. 147. 


240 
tenant-general of the kingdom and successor to 
the throne, because the king went to Paris on the 
17th of July, and confided himself to the gener- 
osity of his subjects. Now the duke operates 
with the abolition of aristocratic privileges, in 
order to cause endless confusion, and perhaps in 
the dark stumble upon adiadem. We must warn 
the people against him.” 

Count de la Marck became uneasy, begging 
Mirabeau in a low voice to be careful, as the duke 
might enter at any moment, having promised to 
come after the session was ended; adding that 
his object was to make Mirabeau’s acquaintance. 
The latter was surprised, and glanced inquiringly 
at his host, who avoided making any reply. The 
Abbé Siéyes soon departed, followed by the rest 
of the guests, as it was past midnight, and Mira- 
beau remained alone with La Marck. They were 
both glad of this opportunity to exchange opin- 
ions on many subjects. 

Count de Ja Marck was one of the most benevo- 
lent and self-sacrificing of men, who, although a 
devoted friend of the royal family, loved to have 
intercourse with persons of all parties, particu- 
larly the leaders of the left in the National As- 
sembly; politically they were his opponents, 
He acted with a tact and 
sincerity that apparently came from his heart; 


socially his friends. 


however, it could not be denied that his principal 
object was to gain partisans for the king and 
queen. . 

The servants were dismissed. La Marck took 
a seat near Mirabeau, who was impatiently await- 
ing whatever revelations his host had to make. 
‘My dear count,” began La Marck, after a pause, 
“we must speak of an affair that, believe me, I 
have at heart even more than you have. I sent 
an intimation to the queen, concerning her inter- 
ests, by the Countess d’Ossun, as I have already 
told you, This lady was commissioned to say to 
her majesty, in my name, that my relation with 
Count Mirabeau, about which singular reports 
were current, must not make her distrustful of 
my devotion to the royal cause. I have two things 
in view: to arrest your revolutionary degeneracy, 
and to make your talent useful to the king and 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


the monarchy, to which you are already greatly 
inclined. I believe the ministers would soon be 
obliged to come to an understanding with you, if 
they wished to maintain their position.” 

“Excellent, my dear friend!” exclaimed Mira- 
beau. ‘And what did the queen reply?” 

“Not very favorably,” replied La Marck. “She 
gave me credit that what I did was with the best 
intentions, but that she did not believe I could 
really influence you. Nor was the opinion enter- 
tained that the ministers of the king would ever 
need your assistance. ‘I hope,’ her majesty 
added, ‘ we shall never be so wretched as to take 
refuge with Mirabeau.’” * 

Mirabeau looked disconcerted. ‘Is it possible 
that Marie Antoinette has such an unconquerable 
uae | 
wished her to know that she had a devoted friend 
on whom she could rely in the National Assem- 


dislike of me?” he asked, in a low voice. 


bly. Ihave become a sincere supporter of the 
royalty, as I have before told you: for I see no 
other way out of our present difficulties, than to 
connect liberty with monarchy—to unite firmly 
How- 
ever, I would have followed my own path without 


the interests of the throne and the nation. 


troubling myself about any of the persons at 
court, if I had not been affected by the deeply- 
afflicted countenance of the queen, not gladdened 
by a single ray of joy from the crown she wears. 
No other reason induced me to ask you to be- 
come a sort of meditator between their majesties 
and myself, informing them that they ought to 
regard me as a friend rather than a foe; but if 
Marie Antoinette cannot understand me, the posi- 
tion of affairs remains the same as before.” 

“We must have patience,” said La Marck, 
quietly. “The king and queen will soon feel 
nothing but gratitude toward you. Only your 
Titanic strength, united as it is with prudence, can 
turn the present ideas of freedom in a monarchi- 
cal direction. That is the problem of our age, 
and you alone can solve it, I never would have 
dared to say a word to you on that subject, if I 


had not perceived that you were laboring in our 





* “ Correspondance entre le Comte de Mirabeau et le 
Comte de la Marck,”’ vol. i., p. 107. 


—————————————— ee ee ol errr hh rh Cm eee ee eee 





THE ARISTOCRATS, 


favor. Her majesty has become timid and dis- 
trustful, but, believe me, as soon as your aims are 
clearly seen, her heart will be softened. The 
court will owe you their salvation, and your re- 
ward will not fail.” 

“What reward do I demand?” exclaimed Mir- 
abeau, in excitement. “You know I only speak 
in public as I feel; in no other way could I utter 
a sentence. If I desired advantages of any kind, 
I never would haye been concerned to remove the 
difficulties existing between the royal family and 
myself. I would have accepted the propositions 
of the Duke d’Orleans. 


gone down into the revolutionary mud, until we 


Then I need only have 


had decided on a king, and proclaimed the duke 
Regent of France. His money has been almost 
forced into my pocket, but I would not have it, 
: You know all 


about that, count, for I have lately made many 


although my debts press me. 


inroads on your purse.” 
““My dearest friend,” said La Marck, shaking 


" Mirabeau’s hand, ‘‘ we owe such little services to 


~ 


each other, just as in riding we would hold each 
other’s stirrup, or strike the dust off a friend’s 
shoulder.” 

“ What a cloud of dust would arise if my debits 
were cast off my back!” said Mirabeau, with a 
tragi-comic sigh. ‘But I shall never forget your 
kindness, and especially the manner in which you 
The last fifty louis d’or I have 


not yet returned, and at present I cannot say 


have obliged me. 


when they will be.” 

“You desire to make me blush,” replied La 
Marck. 
more at my disposal the last time. 


“You must pardon me that I had not 
I am afraid 
there will be some delay before you gain posses- 
sion of your inheritance. You have suffered 
enough by your relatives, and of what use is 
friendship, if it is not in some measure to com- 
pensate injustice ?” 

“My family affairs are again a source of annoy- 
ance to me,” said Mirabeau. “ My father has left 
me a yearly income of fifty thousand francs, but 
to be drawn from our landed property, and this 


- has brought me into collision with my brothers and 


sisters. They have commenced a lawsuit against 
16 





241 


me. In the mean) time, I am penniless, though 
many persons think that I am growing rich by 
bribery, but my pockets are those of an anchorite. 
Iam not ashamed to confess that I am in want 
every day, and that often I cannot pay even my 
servant. The allowance I receive as a deputy 
sorrowfully reminds me that there is such a thing 
on earth as money.” 

** A good idea occurs to me,” rejoined La Marck, 
thoughtfully. ‘ You will have to make mea prom- 
ise, count, to apply to no one but myself in any 
of your pecuniary embarrassments. In that case, 
I will take pleasure in lending you fifty louis d’ors 
every month. I would then know how to make 


my own arrangements accordingly, and this sum, 


together with your allowance, will probably cover 


current expenses. As to your debts, I would ad- 
vise you to leave their settlement until you receive 
the inheritance of your father; that will be a suf- 
ficient guaranty to your creditors. Will you per 
mit me to serve you in that way ?” * 

There are few friends like you,” said Mira- 
beau. “TI accept your offer, and make myself a 
vassal of your friendship.” 

“‘Vassalage is one of the things I am willing 
to have abolished,” replied La Marck, smiling. 
“However, they may resolve on what they please 
in the National Assembly, we shall only the more 
energetically follow our own plans. Let us s7p- 
port the king and the monarchy; if you wish it, 
on the broadest foundation of liberty. Even if I, 
as an old aristocrat, cannot love some of these 
measures, I am willing to suffer them, if royalty 
has the control.” 

“We can only reach this quickly and certainly 
by a new constitution ; and I am urging this truth 
with all my might. Why not a government like 
that of Great Britain? I find in it every guaranty 
for a true, natural, and rational freedom. The 
equilibrium of the throne and the people can be 
maintained by an aristocracy. What more can 
we desire to make the state worthy of being in- 
habited by human beings? We noblemen may 


therein find our honor preserved. But I do not 





* “* Correspondance entre Mirabeau et La Marck,” 
vol. i., p. 95. 


242 


see what is to be done with our wretched assem- 
bly. At one time they spell, like children, for 
months at a single political syllable; and again, 
they put on seven-league boots, endeavoring to 
reach an object at one step—to overturn in a day 
institutions of a thousand years’ growth. I have 
been elected one of the committee on the rights 
of man, about which we are to debate in a few 
days.” 

“Yes, the rights of man!” repeated La Marck, 
shaking his head. 


invention, now to be inscribed in a separate codi- 


“Are they not an American 


cil? I must confess that, until that insane mo- 
tion was made at the sessions, I did not know 
that human rights could be registered just as my 
inspector registers the sheep on my farms.” 

“ What a ridiculous idea that was!” exclaimed 
Mirabeau. “TI lately talked this affair over with 
my Geneva iriends, and even those radical geptle- 
men agreed that the declaration of the rights of 
man, separate from a political constitution, is but 
child’s play, and would become a mere farce.* I 
will endeavor to move the Convention, first to at- 
tend to the construction of a free government, and 
then consider human rights; the latter can be de- 
fined, cr considered at all, only where there are 
laws. . 

“Ts it not a silly falsehood to declare: ‘ All 
men are born free and equal?’ They are very 
far from it—they come into. the world more de- 
pendent than any other creatures, and in ever- 
varied differences of constitution, mind, and tem- 
per, and in vastly dissimilar outward relations, in- 
The most 
gifted are sometimes obliged by the force of cir- 


separable from their very existence ! 


cumstances to become slaves, while the meanest 
We 
My features are 


ascend to places of wealth and authority. 
are born with very few rights. 
naturally my own, but that I may freely express 
my thoughts, worship the Creator in any way I 
please, are privileges I can obtain only in a well- 
ordered, law-abiding community. Let the assem- 
bly first build up the state, and then furnish it 
with all the rights they choose.” 





* Dumont, ‘Souvenirs de Mirabeau,”’ p. 188. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


La Marck pressed the hand of his guest, as a 
token of unanimity of opinion, saying: “You 
delight me, dear count! Would I could always 


hear you speak as temperately in public! Prom- 


ise me that you will make use of such thoughts in 


the heat of dehate. 


often under the power of a revolutionary passion, 


When you speak you are 


and it carries you away. I have felt pained, and 
it is only while privately conversing with you that 
I understand what you might be.” 

“It is true,” replied Mirabeau, gravely, “ when 
I speak publicly, I feel as if my words would burn 
all that is useless in the world, and I am perfectly 
aware when I go too far. To be frank, I pur- 
posely promoted the commotion among the peo- 
ple; for if quiet ensues too soon, the ravenous 
birds will consider themselves safe, and return to 
new objects of prey. It will soon be no longer 
necessary to make a murderers’ den of my heart. 
I will offer my hand to all my opponents, if they 
desire nothing but a free and strong monarchy.” 

“Your extraordinary talents will be appre- 
ciated, count!” said the host. “ And you will 
have a position in France more powerful than any 
other man ever enjoyed. You shall be our min- 
ister, as soon as we have put Necker aside. You 
are still looked upon with suspicion at court, on 
account of your past life. I will, however, direct 
the eyes of the queen toward you. She will soon 
understand that there is but one who can save 
her in her necessity, and he is our Mirabeau !” 

“You have access at all times to her majesty!” 
exclaimed the guest. ‘Marie Antoinette feels 
true friendship for you, for your father was an 
She will be guided by 
Tell her that on my knees I pray for the 
Let her but 
say the word, and I would descend to any service 


Austrian field-marshal ! 
you. 
opportunity to be of service to her. 


in order to assist in erecting a temple according 
to her wishes!” He seized his hat, adding, as 
he was about to take leave: “Pardon me for not 
awaiting the Duke d’Orleans. No friendship can 
ever exist between us, and it is better if he does 
not make my acquaintance. There are already 
reports that I belong to his party; you know that 


such is not the case, and I must say that I would 


MADAME LE JAY AND THE VETO. 


- 


not employ the duke even as my valet de cham- 
bre.” * Count de la Marck laughed, and dis- 
missed his friend with renewed assurances of re- 
gard. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


MADAME LE JAY AND THE VETO. 


On a bright September day, Mirabeau left Ver- 
Bailles to attend to some business at Paris that 
He 
had undertaken to edit a journal, together with 


had rendered him uneasy for several weeks. 


Dumont and Duroveray, which was printed in the 
capital under the title of Ze Courrier de Provence, 
containing very able articles on the politics of the 
day. The paper, however, was so irregularly 
served by the bookseller, Le Jay, its publisher, 
‘that the subscribers were continually complaining, 
and urging Mirabeau to make a change. 

Dumont and Duroveray, his co-editors, impor- 
tuned the count to get another publisher, at the 
same time making it understood that they sus- 
pected the reason of his leniency—a liaison with 
Madame Le Jay. Rather than offend her he was 
willing to ruin a journal so important that during 
the first few days it had more than three thousand 
subscribers. 

Madame Le Jay was the real principal of the 
bookseller’s establishment, submissively assisted 
by her husband, whom she ruled with a rod-of 
iron, A suspicion arose that the irregularity in 
the publishing of the journal was not only the re- 
sult of bad business conduct, but that the sub- 
scriptions were diverted from the rightful parties. 
Besides, Le Jay was always complaining that he 
had no money to pay the postage expenses—that 
the printer would not work, as he was not paid; 
and so the issue of the Courrier de Provence was 
interrupted until Mirabeau made new advances. 

The count bad so far avoided any definite reply 





* The well-known expression of Mirabean in refer- 
ence to his alleged relation with the Duke d’Orleans.— 
La Marck, vol. i., p. 128. 





243 


to the urgency of his friends, but now they man- 
aged to influence him against his will to go to Paris 
in order to make a thorough investigation. He 
sat in the carriage in ill-humor, until Claviére, 
who had joined the party, ventured some remarks. 

“Our Mirabeau fears to enter into explanations 
with his fair friend Madame Le Jay,” said Clavidre, 
jestingly. « Why was the publication of the jour- 
nal given to a man with such a seductive wife? It 
is true, she is no longer young, but she represents 
the brilliant woman of thirty-six. Who can think 
of settling accounts or talking of business-matters, 
when looking into her black eyes? I am con- 
vinced.she keeps no books at all, for it is impos- 
sible to owe her any thing. And now we are carry- 
ing this gigantic man to Paris, almost like a pris- 
oner, to demand her receipts.” 

“You are a fool, Claviére,” replied Mirabeau, 
violently. ‘“ You understand my acquaintance 
with Madame Le Jay perfectly, and, of course, this 
kind of business is not at all pleasant. I have 
given her all my share of the profits, and would 
continue to advance money, if you would only ex- 
empt me from investigating this paltry affair; and 
I consider it a token of friendship that I have con- 
sented. Youare aware that Ido not wish toleave 
Versailles at present even for halfa day. The 
debates about the veto and the union of the two 
chambers have commenced, and these questions 
are so important that I do not like to lose a single 
word ip the Convention.” 

“Why, you made a powerful speech in favor of 
“The 


popular hero has broken a lance for the veto of his 


the king yesterday,” rejoined Claviére, 


majesty, and I can teli you that certain clubs have 
sworn to be revenged on you. You wish to give 
to Louis XVI, who ought to be rejoiced that he 
has gained you, the right to say to all the acts of 
the legislature, ‘I forbid!’ You have proved 
yourself more monarchical than the king himself 
and his ministers; for Necker only demanded the 
privilege for the crown, to postpone the execution 
of the resolutions, and appeal to a newly-elected 
assembly, who would decide for or against it. But 
you, my friend, intend to put the constitution en- 


tirely into the hands ofthe king; and, after your 


244 


exertions yesterday, [ think you may allow your- 
self a little rest, and visit the charming Madame 
Le Jay. Let the others read off their addresses, 
they will not influence the deputies.” 

“T know that I will never agree on these sub- 
jects with you Genevans,” said Mirabeau, looking 
dreamily out of the carriage. “I assure you, 
however, that if the king is not to have the veto 
in the new form of government, I would rather 
live in Turkey than in France. No nation can 
exist without a chief who is responsible in his 
will and actions. I believe in monarchy because 
I desire order! but the throne must have the au- 
thority that is natural to it. I fear the encroach- 
ments of a sovereign much less than those of an 
assembly.” * 

No reply was made, Dumont and Duroveray 
urging forward the postilion. ‘‘ We must hasten,” 
said the former, “for I hear the fair lady goes so 
far as to arrogate to herself the proprietorship of 
the Courrier. Lately, when I attempted a few 
slight reproaches, she became furious, assuring 
me that she would soon dismiss us altogether, and 
employ other editors, who would be more reason- 
able and accommodating.” 

Mirabeau could not refrain from laughing, but 
said, in a conciliatory tone: “ We shall manage to 
come to an understanding with her. I do not think 
it advisable to have any difficulty, for her tongue 
rules the whole Boulevard Poissonniére, where her 
store is; that is a very populous part of the city, 
and I must be very careful lest she paint me too 
black. 


expressions and adventures of mine, as I break- 


It is possible that she has learned many 


fasted with her nearly every morning while she 
had the small store on the boulevard, where the 
newspapers and pamphlets of the day could be 
read.” 

“T was told,” said Claviére, laughing, “ that her 
establishment was often closed, and all knew that 
the revolution was having a respite, while you took 
Madame Le Jay to a restaurant. Did she influence 
you for the king’s veto? She is a zealous royalist, 
and many of the courtiers read her tracts.” 





* From Mirabeau’s speech for the veto of the king. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


“‘ Her reading-room exists no more,” said Du- 
mont. ‘“T was surprised yesterday when I found 
it transformed into a splendid bookstore, where 
Madame Le Jay, surrounded by all the literature of 
the day, was enthroned before a counter of marble 
and gold. She has made good use of our subscrip- 
tion-list, while she not only withholds from us our 
own, but ruins our journal by her neglect and in- 
difference.” 

Mirabeau changed the conversation, which was 
becoming very disagreeable. Soon the carriage 
reached Paris, where was universal tumult. Brawl- 
ing crowds were rushing through all the streets ; 
on the squares, meetings were held and addresses 
delivered of a very inflammatory nature. 

““T hear nothing but words about the veto,” said 
the count, listening to what was passing around 
him. ‘The people really have made great prog- 
ress. I could not have believed that such an in- 
terest would be taken in ideas of a constitution ; 
and where not long ago stood barricades, they are 
holding disputes!” 

“The people did not at first know very well 
what. the veto was,” replied Claviére, smiling, 
“but our friends have made them comprehend it 
in an odd way. Yesterday a man in a blouse, 
with whom I had a long talk, asked me confiden- 
tially in what district M. Veto resided, and whether 
it would not be better to hang him on some lamp- 
post.” 

The postilion found it difficult to push his way 
through the masses to the small street near the 
Boulevard Poissonniére. The public soon recog- 
nized Mirabeau, pressing round his carriage. with 
exclamations of love and devotion, mingled with 
disapproving cries concerning the veto; in the 
background there were signs of dissatisfaction, 
intimating that since Mirabeau was in favor of the 
king, he was not a friend of the people. Claviére 
drew the count’s attention to this popular discon- 
tent. 

The party approached the house of Madame Le 
Jay, and Mirabeau noticed that the throngs who 
had followed now gathered around him as he de- 
scended from the coach. He recognized several 
of the lower classes with whom he formerly had 


MADAME LE JAY 


some familiarity, and who were supposed to exert 
great influence in the various clubs and on the 
streets. Their countenances expressed great 
emotion, and they seemed desirous of speaking to 
him. An old laborer seized Mirabeau’s hand, say- 
ing: “Count, you are the father of the people, 
and must save us. If you do not defend us 
against those who would deliver us bound hand 
and foot to despotism, we are lost. If the king 
exercises the right of a veto, of what use is the 
National Assembly ? We are slaves as much as 
we ever were.” 

Mirabeau looked at the man, and saw that. he 
was in sincere grief. After being pacified by a 
few words he disappeared. Others approached, 
conjuring the count not to permit the king to 
have an absolute veto, and he promised to do all 
he could for them. 


tance of this matter, my friends,” he said. 


** You exaggerate the impor- 
“ But 
Believe me that I have 
your true interests at heart, and will advance them 
' at all times and in all places.” 


you may rely on me. 


Great applause succeeded these words, and the 
people seemed ready almost to worship their 
friend; but he was not deceived—hisses were 
He looked in the direction 
whence they came, and recognized many whom 


heard in the distance. 


he had seen at the clubs, looking threateningly 
toward him. Presently a stentorian voice was 
heard above the tumult. A man had sprung upon 
a lamp-post, to deliver an address. 

“The veto is a monster, that will devour us!” 
said the speaker, violently gesticulating. “It has 
claws like a tiger, with which it tears the sov- 
ereignty of the nation; it has a poisonous tooth ; 
it has a upas breath, and drops a venom on the 
life of our young liberty which will wither all our 
hopes before they have a chance to be realized.” 

“Let us slip into the store under cover of this 
man’s speech!” said Mirabeau, 

Madame Le Jay was aware of the arrival of the 
gentlemen, and at once opened the door of her 
establishment. They saluted her rather gravely— 
a style she was not accustomed to, particularly 
from Mirabeau; and as she knew with what in- 
tentions they had come, she began to assume a 





AND THE VETO. 245 


position of defence. Crossing her arms, she stood 
in the centre of the apartment, awaiting the onset 
in a defiant attitude. 

The count appeared absent-minded, pacing the 
store, and examining the books on the shelves. 
“You are well provided with literature, Madame 
Le Jay!” he said, taking down a book and turn- 
ing toward her. “This isa very pretty edition of 
the Liaisons Dangereuses. Tell me the price, and 
enter it to my account, for I intend to purchase 
And 
you may as well take this opportunity of letting 


the volume for the sake of the copperplates. 


me see our business-books, that I may know how 
the credit of the Courrier de Provence stands, 
Otherwise, I can only make purchases from your 
store by paying cash.” 

“See how carefully he goes to work!” whis- 
pered Claviére, who had withdrawn to the back- 
ground with the others, ‘“ And what an ingeni- 
ous transition from the Liaisons Dangereuses to 
our own affairs! That work was written by the 
wretched La Clos, and is a special favorite of 
Mirabeau. He has, I fear, dangerous connections 

Ido not speak of that which will 


very likely ruin our journal, but there are others 


everywhere! 


which will ruin him. He is talking softly to her, 
squeezing her white hands, but she looks as angry 
as a hyena, shaking her head, and rejecting his 
propositions.” 

“Madame Le Jay,” said Mirabeau, in a voice 
intended to be heard by the rest, “if honesty did 
not exist in the world, we ought to invent it, as 
the only means of enriching ourselves.” * 

The lady, however, seemed to lose all control 
over herself. Trembling with anger, she stepped 
forward, and, raising her clinched hands, cried in 
a piercing voice: “ Count, and you other gentle- 
men, you have so degraded the Courrier by your 
blasphemous articles, that I do not consider it 
good enough to clean the window-panes of my 
store—and you wish to see my books, in order to 
accuse me of swindling! I have no books for 
you, my gentlemen; for I am an honest woman; 
and, if you say another word, I shall have to dis- 





* Mirabeau’s expression on this occasion.—Dumont, 
p. 122. 


246 


charge you, and employ two other editors, who 
have already made application. You have not all 
the talent in the world. There are other writers 
besides you. Paris’ is a city where you can find 
hosts of people able and ready to labor for money. 
For example, there is M. Guiraudez, who, by the 
way, is still a very young man, but of such ability 
that you are not fit to hold a light to him. I in- 
tend that henceforth he shall be one of my editors. 
And now go, or your presence will make me 
angry. I will use my rights of proprietor, lack- 
March t all 
of you; my hands are itching to try their effect 


ing neither the will nor the power. 


on your pretty faces, and it will not be my fault 
if you do not soon discover it, if you stay many 
minutes longer ! ” 

The fury of the woman so excited the risibility 
of the Genevans that they could not refrain from 
expressing it, while they acted as if they were 
really afraid of her. Mirabeau, who was inclined 
to return her compliments, was almost restored 
to good-humor by the merriment of his friends. 
“Let us depart, for it is rather stormy here,” he 
gt 
must come to some satisfactory agreement, rely 


said, taking leave in a very prompt manner. 


on it, and all causes of complaint shall be re- 
moved.” | 

Dumont and Duroveray declared that they 
would withdraw from the editorial management 
“Then M. Guiraudez will fill 
your places!” exclaimed Madame Le Jay, with 


of the journal. 


triumphant eyes. 
“He will be 
tied to her apron-string, and have the labor of a 


«Poor fellow!” said Clavidre. 


Sisyphus! TI believe it is better to sell one’s self 
to the court. Mir- 
abeau pretended not to hear the question, request- 


What do you say, count?” 


ing his friends to leave. 

The multitude in the street had dispersed, and 
all was silent. The Genevans separated from 
Mirabeau, as they had business to attend to in 
Paris, and would not immediately return to Ver- 
sailles. 

“ Well,” said Claviére, before he went his way, 
“is that all we have accomplished to-day? It is 


a pity that your assembly, among their seventeen 





COUNT MIRABEAU, 


rights of man, did not decree the following: 
‘Every citizen has the right of loving Madame Le 
Jay and imagining her to be the queen.’ ” 

"“ Adieu!” said Mirabeau, laughing, though the 
“JT wish you bet- 
ter success than that we have just had. I must, 


jest appeared to irritate him. 


however, say, for my justification, that the ma- 
dame is generally very amiable. Olympus, you 
know, had divinities of all tempers!” 

Before night the count was again at Versailles. 
His servant delivered him a letter which had 
The black 


seal made a melancholy impression on Mirabeau. 


come during his master’s absence. 


Hastily opening the envelope, addressed in a wri- 
ting unknown to him, he read the announcement 
of a death that grieved him. It was one of the 
solemn voices of the past, bringing the memory 
of days which he little thought of in the turmoil 
of later life. 


vived in his mind, and his wild love seemed as a 


The time of youth and hope re- 


dream when his tears fell upon the lines convey- 
ing to him the intelligence of the decease of So- 
phie de Monnier. 

Sophie had breathed her last in-her small villa 
of Gien, where she had dwelt since leaving the 
convent, and whence no information of her ever 
reached Mirabeau. One morning she did not ap- 
pear at the usual hour, and, when her room was 
entered, she was found in her easy-chair, with 
a charcoal fire on each side of it. Thus, in her 
thirty-sixth year, with the charms of her youth 
still undecayed, she ended her life by suicide. 
Her physician, Dr. Ysabeau, sent the news of her 
death to her former lover, considering it proper, 
in view of the relations once existing between 
them, The doctor added some explanation why 
she sought death. She had become attached to 
a M. de Poterat, and their affection was sincere. 
Since death robbed her of this friend, she deter- 
mined to outlive no other. 

“Sophie de Monnier dead!” sighed Mirabeau, 
with profound melancholy, stepping to the open 
window and looking out into the silent night. 
“ Ah, she was gentle and yet passionate—but 
when I loved her was I happy? I was a youth 
without a future; and, without thought or honor, 


THE OCTOBER DAYS. 


Sophie and 


Henriette! stars ever shining in my memory ! 


revelled in the follies of the present. 


“ When I loved you, Henriette, it was a happy 
union of hearts! You were young and pure, and 
our affection was founded in our mutual happi- 
ness. Our regard for liberty was the same, and 
we looked with hopefulness to the well-being of 
the people—we were both enthusiastic in our 
ideal of the future of France. Often you looked 
at me with those innocent eyes, asking me 
whether real love, liberty, and popular happiness, 
would ever dwell on the earth, changing it into a 
paradise. My poor Nehra, this sad death re 
minds me of your illness—consumption is fast 
wasting away your beauty and your life, and I 
know not the hour I may be called upon to mourn 
your death. I seldom see you in these days of 
national sorrow, ahd, I confess, I fear to behold 
My friend, 
I am about to engage in those measures of which 


your pallid cheeks and hollow eyes! 


we often talked; but you are ill, and my success 
can be of little importance to you. It would seem 
as if I were guilty of neglect, but it is the tumult 
But what 
you so enthusiastically desired cannot be wholly 


of the day that bears me from you. 
executed! The people’s heart is like a woman’s 
—it must have and feel a master to be truly hap- 


py! 
ness—its strength becomes weakness—its tender- 


Left to itself, its temporary boast is empti- 


ness, coarseness.—But see! the sun is rising in 
adorable splendor, and the stars that once shone 
so bright to my outward view are now fading 
Who art thou, whom I behold throned 
as in light? Thine eyes are like the eyes of a 


away. 


queen, and thine apparel as the glory of the’ 


morning. I worship thee—the last ideal of my 
life! The monarchy shall remain—the destruc- 
tive hands of men shall no more reach it than 
they can the firmament above them—it shall hal- 
low all our dreams and realize our hopes of hap- 
O Marie Antoinette, reach forth your 


hand, and avert the tempest that threatens you 


piness. 


and those committed to your sovereignty.” 





On the 5th of October, while the National As- 
sembly held an early session, disquieting and 
gloomy reports reached the benches of the depu- 
| ties, and also the president Mounier, who for a 
short time was at the head of the Convention. 
The deliberations ceased. All arose to leave the 
hall for the streets, where the angry populace 
had already gathered. Mirabeau walked arm in 
arm with La Marck toward the gate opening on 
the high road leading to Paris. 

'“T think I see a cloud of dust yonder!” said 
Mirabeau to his friend. “Do you really believe 
that a revolutionary procession is coming to Ver- 
My friends 
in the capital have failed to apprise me of it.” 


sailles to offer violence to the king? 


“T can-add some strange news to the rumors 
“ About 


ten o’clock this morning Vauvilliers, the presi- 


already current,” whispered La Marck. 


dent of the Paris city council, arrived at the pal- 
ace, bringing information which has completely 
frightened the ministers. At dawn about a thou- 
sand women assembled on the Place Gréve, who, 
making their starved condition a pretext, abused 
the king and all in authority, and endeavored to 
enter the Hotel de Ville, amid furious cries for 
bread, and threats of revenge. They rang the 
alarm-bells and brought together a vast number 
of people, who sympathized with them. The 
French guards became their friends, demanding 
vengeance on account of the late officers’ ban- 
quet held at Versailles, where the royal body- 
guard tore the three-colored cockades from their 
hats and trod them under foot. Those women, 
the outcasts of Paris, have formed themselves 
into a procession, attended by multitudes of citi- 
zens, an artillery-train, as well as several thou- 
sand of the National Guards, and are on their 
way hither. Vauvilliers has preceded them and 
announced their demands. They will not only 


ask for bread, and an apology for the insult to the 





tricolor, but will force the king to go with them 


248 


to the capital, and take up his dwelling in the 
midst of the revolution.” * 

“The women did not act so of their own ac- 
cord,” said Mirabeau, thoughtfully. “The Or- 
leanists may have originated this new farce; but, 
as far as I know, the duke would rather not have 
He fears the attachment of 
the Parisians for their sovereign. It would suit 
him better if Louis XVI. left the kingdom or even 
the world. Can the commander of the National 
Guards, Marquis de Lafayette, be at the bottom 
of the affair ? 
the king better when in the capital, and is dream- 


the king in Paris. 


He fancies that he could influence 


ing of a ministry of which he will be the head. 
He would at all events be better than Necker. 
And what did his majesty say to the news from 
Vauvilliers ? ” 

“He had already left for the hunt near Meu- 
don,” replied La Marck. “ Messengers have been 
sent after him in all directions. He is really a 
wonderful character; for in the midst of the most 
dangerous commotions, he is not disturbed in his 
habits—nothing interrupts the regular occupa- 
tions and pleasures of the day. He himself 
maintains his calmness, almost the same as in- 
difference, and is as unconscious and dignified 
as if the nation had nothing to complain of, 
and were perfectly happy.” 

“ And did you think the answer read this morn- 
ing in the assembly was dignified ?” asked Mira- 
beau. ‘I am afraid it will increase the discon- 
The king is too 
He 
openly declares his opinion of the first articles 
He 


does not say that he accepts, nor does he oppose 


tent at such a time as this. 
frank, and that is a great disadvantage. 


of the constitution and the rights of man. 


them, adding that on one condition he will ac- 
cede, but on no other consideration can he be 
induced to do so; that the deliberations of the 
Convention shall have no other object than to 
confirm the executive power in the hands of 
You know that I desire this 
earnestly, and am continually laboring for such a 
Messrs. Necker and St. Priest, if they 


the sovereign! 


purpose. 





* Sybel, ‘‘ History of the Revolution from 1789 to 
1795,”” vol. i., p. 66. 





COUNT MIRABEAUD. 


' 
had any political tact, ought never to have let 
the king say any thing that puts him in an am- 
biguous position; for this declaration betrays 
half a boaster and half a coward, making the 
monarch dependent on the National Assembly.” 

“Only have patience, my friend, we shall soon 
have a better ministry,” said La Marck, signifi- 
cantly. “When your name stands at the head of 
the cabinet, we shall have a steady light to guide 
the decisions of his majesty.— But, hear the 
noise! it is like the sound of a river rushing 
nearer and nearer !” 

“TI believe that was thunder,” rejoined Mira- 
beau, scanning the horizon, which was darkly 
clouded, and looked like a vast range of dark 
mountains. ‘‘I scarcely remember such a hot 
October—it is a fit day, for the sky above us is 
looking very tempestuous.” They went farther 
out upon the public road. 

“The cause of this social storm will soon ap- 
“The fish-women of 


You may 


pear!” said La Marck. 
Paris are infecting the atmosphere. 
scent them as they approach. The hesitation of 
the king is at the bottom of this new disturbance. 
Perhaps it may be considered a good sign that 
The 
philosophers of the Palais-Royal have made out a 


the people are so crazy about their rights. 


list of the men who voted against those rights in © 
the National Assembly—a long proscriptive rot}, 
count !” 

“ Our names cannot be there,” said Mirabeau, 
“for we were not present when the votes were 
taken.” 

“That was good advice you gave me, and a 
proof of your political genius!” replied La 
Marck. 

“T only wished to let the people see that I was 
willing to please them,” said Mirabeau, smiling. 
“They almost knelt to mein the streets of the 
capital, conjuring me not to give my voice against 
the rights of man. I never was disobliging, and 
I thought they might perform some service for me 
at a future time.” j 

The shouts of the procession were now plainly 
heard, and, as soon as the dust permitted, the 
first soiled and oddly-dressed figures made their 


THE OCTOBER DAYS. 


appearance, all running and threatening to anni- 
hilate every thing that obstructed their way. 

At the head were two gigantic men, the chosen 
_Jeaders, bearing rods tipped with iron as the sig- 
nal of their office. They were two of the Fords 
de la Halle (as the male members of the fish-mar- 
ket of Paris were called), followed by several 
drummers incessantly beating. Then came the 
women of the Halle, in their peculiar costume 
and masculine stride, with pale faces, expressive 
of hunger and boundless fury. There were more 
than a thousand of them, and from their vile lips 
foamed curses of every kind. In their midst and 
following them were several of those frightful- 
looking men who always appeared on such occa- 
sions, but vanished as soon as all was quiet again, 
as if, having accomplished their mission, they had 
returned to some infernal abode. They wore high, 
pointed caps, surmounting long hair; dirty and 
untrimmed beards added to their ferocious look ; 
and, armed with pikes, iron-pointed sticks, and 
‘other weapons, they seemed to be the é/ife in a 
crowd preéminent for cruelty and vice of every 
kind. As they rushed by with heavy pieces of 
cannon, and displayed their vast strength by 
handling them. as toys, one involuntarily shud- 
dered, and asked, Whence came they ? 

“There you may see the generatio equivoca of 
“Tt is 
difficult to know from what quarter these persons 


the revolution!” whispered Mirabeau. 


come; and how mysteriously they disappear! ” 
The procession was closed by some National 

The 

noise of the women was fearful—one howling cry 


Guards, who voluntarily joined the rioters. 


of complaint and vengeance began in front, and 
" was reéchoed by those in the rear. 

“These demands for bread are dreadful !” said 
Mirabeau, taking the arm of his friend to return 
to the city, where they wished to arrive as soon 
as possible. 

“Tt is certain that great want reigns in Paris,” 
“Yet I think 

France has 


said La Marck, in a pitying voice. 

it is not the natural result of affairs, 
had a good harvest, and bread has not risen 
higher than three cents a pound—the market- 


price for years in the capital. Now suddenly no 





249 


food is to be had. The ministry ought to dis- 
cover the originator of all this misery. Whispers 
are heard here and there of an enemy of the 
Oh, 
I could weep for our good Louis; for where such 


king, buying up all provisions by his agents. 


intriguers are at work, the noblest man that ever 
ascended a throne will perish!” 

“Yes, you are right; he is an intriguer, this 
Duke d’Orleans, ambitious of usurping the 
throne!” exclaimed Mirabeau, with a violent 
gesture. 

“For Heaven’s sake, do not speak that name 
so loud!” said La Marck, looking carefully 
around. “It is time, however, for us to be at 
our post. The session was to reopen at three 
o’clock, and the president desires us to be punc- 
tual. Whatever may happen to-day, the Nation- 
al Assembly must be ready to promote law and 
order,” ; 

“Then let us be in time to announce the ladies 
«ip! 
have been informed that their first visit will be 


and their train,” said Mirabeau, laughing. 


to the Convention ; and there they are, following 
us. I am of opinion that the deputies receive 
them with all the politeness due the fair sex. 
Let us hasten!” 

When Mirabeau and La Marck entered the hall, 
Mounier had just taken the chair. A desultory 
debate, having no connection with the exciting 
question of the times, was commenced; but the 
delegates were absent-minded, and occupied with 
the extraordinary intelligence they had just re- 
ceived. All were looking toward the doors, ex- 
pecting to have notice given them of the arrival 
of their strange visitors. 

An usher entered, with signs of perturbation 
on his countenance, and whispered something to 
the president, who arose, gravely informing the 
members of the National Assembly that the 
Dames de la Halle from Paris were about to pay 
them a visit. By a large majority it was decided 
to admit them. Immediately after, a number of 
women appeared, and with some confusion and 
noise seated themselves wherever they could on 
the benches of the deputies, and in close proxi- 
mity to them. The same men who led them 


250 


in the street were still at the head of the crowd. 
One of them boldly took his stand near the presi- 
dent’s chair, and began to speak. He said they 
had come to Versailles to obtain bread and 
money, and to have the royal body-guards pun- 
ished for insulting the patriotic cockade ! 

The women then began to scream that food 
must be given to the city of Paris. 

The president tried to make them understand 
that the National Assembly had already done 
much in forwarding provisions to the capital, and 
that still other relief would be given; but that it 
would be better for the “ citizenesses,” as he 
politely called them, to return peaceably to Paris. 

“That does not satisfy us!” cried several ap- 
parently masculine voices, but they belonged to 
the fish-women. 

“ Why do you not speak, deputy!” said a tall 
and stout poissarde to her neighbor, addressing 
him in the familiar style to which she was ac- 
customed, 

“Hold your tongue, deputy!” said another, 
drawing down to his seat by the skirts of his 
coat an unpopular delegate, who was about to 
make an address. Just then loud reports were 
heard in rapid succession from the cannon 
brought by the multitude; for those of them 
who could find no room in the session-hall went 
to the avenues of the palace, and amused them- 
selves in the practice of artillery. 

The countenances of many of the members of 
the Convention turned pale, and indicated great 
fear. When Mirabeau rose, at the sound of his 
voice all was instantly hushed. He asked in a 
commanding manner, “ by what right the lady citi- 
zens had come to prescribe laws to the National 
Assembly, and influence the deputies? The wo- 
men of the fish-market, however well they may 
deserve of the fatherland, were bound to hold 
their peace in the Convention, and show respect 
The 
applause, and 


to the legislators elected by the people!” 
women burst into boisterous 
showed their appreciation of this energetic ap- 


peal, * 





* ‘Mémoires de Rivarol,” p. 273; Ferriéres, vol. i., 
p. 323. 





COUNT MIRABEAD. 


‘What a splendid fellow is this Count Mira- 
beau!” cried several of the poissardes, 

“Bravo, my son!” said another, making a 
courtesy, and smilingly shaking his hand. 

Mirabeau turned to the president, asking him to 
nominate a deputation, at the head of which should 
be Mounier himself, in order to demand an imme- 
diate declaration from the king that he would ac- 
cept those articles of the constitution already laid 
before him ; they were then to request assistance 
for Paris, so that food might be distributed and 
order restored. 

The female part of the audience again testi- 
fied their gratification at Mirabeau’s words. The 
deputation was quickly named, and Mounier was 
about to depart with them, when the market- 
women rose tumultuously, expressing their inten- 
tion of accompanying the members to the king. 
Nothing could induce them to desist from their 
undertaking, and finally an arrangement was made 
that no more than six of them should appear be- 
fore his majesty ; but they all left the hall, some 
in anger, and others in merriment. 

The rain fell in torrents. The deputation wished 
to lose no time in procuring carriages, and there 
fore went on foot to the palace, followed by a 
crowd of women. They found all the avenues to 
the castle surrounded by vast multitudes. The 
poissardes arranged themselves in a kind of battle 
array near the outer railing; the body-guards, 
who were stationed there, not permitting any 
nearer approach, though they seemed to have been 
commanded to make no use of their arms, how- 
ever insolent the conduct of those who attempted 
to pass. 

As soon as the members of the National As- 
sembly were recognized, a way was speedily 
opened, and an escort, consisting of ragged and 
repulsive-looking men, surrounded the deputation. 
Thus they arrived in the inner court-yard, and had 
themselves announced to the king. The female 
portion of the embassy, however, was more than 
doubled on the way, and by Parisiennes of such 
robust constitution and determined demeanor, that 
few men would have contended with them. 

Louis XVI. quickly returned from the hunt, 


/ 


THE OCTOBER DAYS. 


after having been overtaken by his master of the 
horse, the Marquis de Cubiéres, whom the queen 
in anxiety sent after her husband. As he ap- 
proached, several small-arms were fired, exchanged 
between the body-guards and the people ; some of 
the balls rebounded against the hall where the 
The king’s first 
order was that the troops should return no fire. 
When the captain of the Gardes du Corps asked 
for further instructions, the king asked, smilingly : 


Conyention held its sessions. 


“What ! instructions against fish-women ? I think 
you must be jesting!” 

The royal anterooms.were in the mean time 
filled with many persons, among them Necker, and 
the minister of the interior, M. de St. Priest. Con- 
versations were held in a low voice, and several 
began to dispute whether the king should leave or 
not, and whether it were not better for the safety 
of the throne if he withdrew for a while to some 
distant province.* Mounier and his companions 
stood some time in the midst of this company be- 

-fore they were admitted to his majesty. 
Louis XVI. received the deputation with his 
usual simple and touching kindness, proceeding 
from the consciousness of his good intentions, and 
in this instance containing more of the strength 
than the weakness of his character. Mounier first 
made known the requests of the National Assem- 
“bly, then diverging into an eloquent and impressive 

description of the misery existing among the popu- 
| The king replied that no 
means should be left unused to remedy the evil, 


lation of the capital. 


and spoke in so sympathetic a voice that tears 
stood in the eyes of the women.+ Mounier then 
demanded to know at what hour his majesty would 
give an answer concerning his acceptance of the 
articles of the constitution. Nine o’clock on the 
same evening was the time appointed. It was 
now about six. The king, after avery friendly 
farewell, retired to his cabinet, followed by his 
ministers. 

While this was passing in the interior of the 
palace, the position of affairs was taking an un- 





* Madame de Staél, ‘‘Mémoires et Considérations 
sur la Révolution francaise,” vol. i., ch. xi. 
+ Rivarol, p. 278. 





251 


favorable turn in the court-yards, owing to the 
continued wordy collision between the masses and 
the body-guards. Some of the people tried to 
gain a forcible entrance, and one of the National 
Guards of. Versailles, who had united with the 
Paris rioters, shot down a captain of one of the 
companies belonging to the guard around the 
palace. This was the signal for a terrible mas- 
sacre, in which the Gardes du Corps, to whom the 
officer belonged, had the worst, as they endeavored 
as much as possible to obey the king’s command, 
and not fire upon the multitude. The latter, how- 
ever, opened a murderous discharge of small-arms 
upon the soldiers, who attempted to aim a cannon 
at the crowd, stationed before the barracks of 
the old French guards. 

The monarch ordered the military to retreat to 
The 
cavalry formed themselves in line and left the 


quarters, hoping thus to pacify the people. 


Place d’Armes; but the mob, having reloaded 
their guns, followed up the departing regiments 
and sent a shower of balls after them. They 
were thus received along the streets and from 
the houses they had to pass, so that many 
fell dead from their horses; but the larger num- 
ber retired in good order, and refrained from 
attack, 

This outrage caused the greatest uneasiness to 
the inmates of the palace. In the council held, 
the ministers spoke openly of the prudence of the 
king’s flight, but he gravely refused to entertain 
any such idea. Then a proposition was made to 
send the queen and the dauphin to some place of 
safety ; but when the carriages came to the door, 
the mob cut the traces, broke the wheels, and ran 
through the thoroughfares of Versailles, crying 
that the king’s departure for Metz must be pre- 
vented ! 

Marie Antoinette never intended to leave. She 
went to her husband’s apartments, declaring in a 
courageous voice that she would stay, and, if 
necessary, die with him! The king regarded his 
consort in confidence and joy. Her countenance 
beamed with heroism, and her fear had vanished, 
Her eyes were no longer sad, but flashed with a 


fire that cheered and encouraged her husband, 


252 


It was about ten o’clock at night, when the 
queen noticed a paper in the king's hands, and 
asked the meaning of it. She was told it was the 
written declaration he was about to deliver to the 
National Assembly, assenting to their demands. 
Marie Antoinette trembled for a moment, but 
soon recovered herself. Louis XVI. then sent 
for Mounier, who had been waiting an hour for 
this reply in the antechamber. The king trans- 
mitted the paper to the president, with a smile, 
though it was said that the latter was seen among 
the soldiers of the Flanders regiment, endeavoring 
to induce them to desert the royal cause. Accord- 
ingly they refused to take up arms, or to be 
stationed in any of the palace court-yards, when 
the king sent. for them an hour before, having be- 
come alarmed at the position of affairs. He also 
recalled his faithful body-guards. 
immediately obeyed, though on repassing the 


Many of them 


streets they were again fired upon, some of them 
being killed and others dangerously wounded, 

An adjutant of the Marquis de Lafayette arrived 
after ten, aunouncing that the marquis was on his 
way to Versailles at the head of the National 
Guards. 
was greatly heightened by this information ; for it 


The confusion of the ministerial council 


was accompanied by the further intelligence that 
Lafayette was authorized in this act by the com- 
mittee of the Paris Commons, and it was certain 
The king said 
that the arrival of the general must be awaited 


that he brought new demands. 


quietly and without distrust, adding, as he turned 
to the queen, that there still remained something 
to oppose to the marquis—the sword of his an- 
cestors ! 

As night advanced, the monarch felt himself 
more and more influenced by a desire to which he 
He thought it advisable 
at this dangerous hour, to call to his safety the 


finally gave expression. 


inviolability of the representatives of the nation, 
and sent word to Mounier that he would be glad 
to see at the palace the president and as many 
As 
the crowding of the people into the hall had long 


deputies of the assembly as he could collect. 


interrupted the session, Mounier dispatched a 
drummer through all the thoroughfares to bring 





COUNT MIRABEAUD. 


together as many of the delegates as possible 
At last the president appeared with the most 
prominent members of the Convention, among 
whom were Mirabeau, La Marck, Volney, Robes- 
pierre, Guillotin, and others. Several of them 
were armed, thus greatly increasing the disqui- 
etude, Mirabeau wore a sword in a shoulder-belt. 
It was the first time he added a weapon to the 
costume of the Third Estate. 

About midnight, Lafayette reached Versailles 
at the head of twenty thousand of the Paris Na- 
His drums first aroused the fish- 
women, who formed themselves on the Place 


tional Guards. 


d’Armes, in quite a martial array, sending out 
patrols to investigate the cause of this new move- 
ment. The marquis halted his troops before the 
palace, disposing them at all the avenues to the 
castle, the square before it, and the adjoining 
streets. Dismounting and accompanied by the 
commissaries assigned him by the Paris Commons, 
he went into the king’s presence. 
dress the general said that he had come to re- 
establish order, and make peace between his ma- 
jesty and his subjects. The demands of the Paris 
Commons were, that the service of the palace 
should be performed by the National Guards 
only; the Commons must understand from the 
beginning all the acts passed in reference to Paris; 
the enumerated rights of man must be accepted, 
and the king make the capital his usual place 
of residence.* 

Louis XVI. replied that he granted the first de- 
mand; that the second and third were already 
conceded ; that the fourth was not contrary to his 
inclination, but he would come to a decision at 
some future time. 

Lafayette hastened to execute the object of his 
embassy. He ordered divisions of the National 
Guards to occupy the palace; the rest were quar- 
tered in the churches and other buildings of the 
city, or encamped in the streets. Their bivouac- 


fires were centres of attraction to the masses, who 


‘seemed to have made up their minds to pass the 


night out of doors. Gradually all the women and 





* Sybel, ‘‘ History of the Revolution,” vol. i., p. 69. 


In a short ad- ~ 


« 
3. 
‘ 











fp. 268. 


MIRABEAU DEFENDING THE QUEEN'S BED. 


THE OCTOBER DAYS. 


their attendants settled around them, adding to 
the excitement, and encouraging the tendency to 
daring deeds. It was soon determined to storm 
_the barracks of the Gardes du Corps and extermi- 
nate that hated regiment. 

These threatening symptoms of ‘istenes were 
announced to General Lafayette, but he left the 
palace, being exhausted by need of rest, taking up 
his abode in the Hétel Noailles. 
the assembly also departed for their temporary 


The members of 


homes. 
inhabitants of the royal abode, and the king and 


Quiet seemed to have returned for the 


queen retired to their chambers to seek forgetful- 
ness in sleep. For a few hours the clamor of the 
day contrasted with the silence of the night. 

In the streets, however, there was. a new and 


terrible tumult, beginning at’the barracks of the 


The edifice could not: resist the 
furious attacks of the populace, who destroyed all 
But few of the soldiers 


Gardes du Corps. 


that came in their way. 


were there, and they sought, safety. by. fleeing: 


toward the palace, but, most of them were nes 
or wounded on the way, 

As the morning dawned, the people, by a silent 
agreement, turned toward the castle. «One en- 


trance was found deserted -by the sentinél; and 


through this the- raging crowd. penetrated, filling | im 
' all the court-yards and: corridors, and approach-. 


ing the royal apartments.” Suddenly. a voice was 
heard : 
ful words resounded through the palace. ‘The .in- 


vaders passed farther. into the ‘interior, killed 
some of the guards who resisted them, and fought. 
their way with the soldiers posted. at ‘the very. 


threshold of Marie Antoinette’s chamber. Defend- 


ing it to the last, the faithful guards fell beneath’ 


the blows of pikes and clubs, Bods 
The uproar awakened the queen, while at the 


same moment her lady-in-waiting rushed: i in, in-. 


forming her of the dangers threatening. her life, 
and from which. it would. be difficult to /eseape, 


The queen sprang up, and,. without giving herself . 
time to dress, ran as she was toa side-door, lead-.. 


ding to a corridor, and by a long and narrow pas- 
_ sage thence tothe rotunda, connecting with the 


king’s apartments. To her terror she found the 


“the crowded corridors. 


animated by an ardent desire to ‘save her, 


“The head of ‘the queen ! !?sand: the fear- 


‘the -perfumes - of the royal cabinet, 





253 


door at the end of the corridor locked ; but her 
husband coming to meet her, she cast herself into 
his arms.* 

The assassins broke open the door of the 
queen’s chamber, entering with shouts, declaring 


their murderous intentions, and demanding their 


‘prey... They rushed to her couch, and a notori- 


ous criminal.drew aside with a laugh the cur- 
taining silk. When it was discovered: that the 
queen was absent, the fiends expended their fury 
on the pillows and bolsters, tearing them tc 
atoms, and piercing the bed. with- daggers and 
pikes. . | Hs 


Mirabeau appeared during this scene. He waz 


overwhelmed with horror when he thought of 


what might have taken place. During the night 


he was aroused by the rumor of what was. pass- 
‘ing at the palace, and, with other members of 


the National: “Assembly, forced his .way ‘through 
Hearing that the life of 


‘the ‘queen was threatened, he’ entered her room, 


‘With 


burning eyes he drew his- sword, and, pliging 
himself, before: the bed where so ‘lately. Marie 


Antoinette had ‘slumbered, drove: the.’ ‘ruffians 
ara He. forgot his own. danger in, his noble 


impulses to save a dofeneeless ‘woman. _ Being 


recognized, it was not. “believed that he was in 


‘earnest in preventing » ‘them: from, sacrificing the 


"queen wherever they could find her, and they bur- 


vied: away to discover her ‘hiding-place, oa e:, 
When’ Mirabeau awoke from his. thoughts, as 
from a hideous dream, he was almost alone i in the 
_ Near. the door, 
however, some’ persons still lingered, walking up 


chamber of Marie, Antoinette. 


and down, but keeping away from: him. . Suddenly 


he felt a ‘strong. g hand. rest upon his shoulder, and 
tuning, he, saw the grinning and merciless face 
of, ‘the deputy Pétion. Ma ape 

“A captivating scene for the men of the left,” 
“Our 


colleague : Mirabeau appears to. be enchanted by 


said. the delegate, with a savage laugh. 


Have we 
again caught you betraying the cause of the 
people?” 





* Weber, vol. i., p. 446. 


254 


Mirabeau replied in a few sharp words, when he 
noticed that quite a number of deputies surround- 
ed him, among whom were Robespierre, Barnave, 
and Dr. Guillotin. The former looked at the 
count distrustfully ; but the doctor, with his in- 
variably gentle and attractive smile, offered his 
hand to Mirabeau, remarking in a bantering man- 
ner that he must excuse them, if they recalled 
him from his pleasant visions to the dreary reali- 
ties of the day. 

The count silently crossed his arms, and con- 
templated these gentlemen, whose revolutionary 
zeal he had lately been forced to combat in the 
public debates, and whose hatred he believed he 
had incurred, 

“Tt was really affecting to see how Count Mir- 
abeau protected the queen’s bed against the brave 
men of the people!” exclaimed Robespierre, 
“He stands there like the high- 
priest of the reaction? But why are you a be- 


. contemptuously. 


lated royalist ? ” } 

“Tt would be desirable even to die here!” said 
the gentle Barnave. 

“Our Dr. Guillotin will furnish you with an 
acreeable mode of dying!” said Robespierre. 
“He has invented a wonderful beheading-ma- 
chine, of which I saw the plan at his house. It 
cuts off heads in so swift and merciful a manner 
that it ought to be considered a blessing to hu- 
manity. I hope it will soon be practically adopted.” 

“Ts the instrument really completed, doctor?” 
asked Barnave, inquisitively. 

“T cannot positively say that,” replied Guillo- 
tin. “Our friend Robespierre seems to be in 
haste. I will not be able to hand in my report 
on capital punishment until the end of the year, 
and I will propose the employment of my ma- 
If I succeed, it will 


really be a triumph over other methods in the in- 


chine at the same time. 


fliction of capital punishment.” 

“Well, then, in the mean time we must find 
other things to dispose of the enemies of the 
people!” exclaimed Robespierre, spitefully, His 
eyes met the questioning glance of Mirabeau, who 
felt strange apprehensions, 

Robespierre turned quickly and left, followed 





COUNT MIRABEAU 


by Pétion, Barnave, and Guillotin, so that the 
The lamp had burned, 
low, and was flickering in the gloomy apartment, 
when Mirabeau hastened with a shudder into the 


count was again alone. 


lighted corridor, where numerous persons were 
still passing from one end to the other, uttering 
dreadful curses. Some of them wore masks, or 
had chosen whimsical costumes to disguise them- 
selves. Through one of the passages the Duke 
d’Orleans glided, and his pale face was presently 
again seen in a corner, where he was whispering 
with his confidant, the Duke d’Aiguillon and his 
secretary, La Clos, the author of the Liaisons 
Dangereuses, The duke was apparently giving 
instructions as to the progress of the sedition. 
Marat and the colossal Danton, in all his deformi- 
ty, were also present. 

The report that Lafayette had arrived spread 
He 


had quietly slept, but, when aroused to be in- 


rapidly through all the halls of the palace. 


formed of the proceedings of the night, he at 
once mounted his horse and hastened to the 
royal residence, followed by strong detachments 
of the National-Guards, whom he ordered to be 
stationed at all the passages. “The mob were 
speedily ejected into the court-yards, where they 
continued their riotous conduct, filling the air 
with howlings for the royal blood. 

As the autumn day was dawning, Lafayette 
stood before the king, and endeavored to give 
him confidence in his subjects, but intimating that 
for the future his majesty would have to dwell 
in Paris. Louis was listless and careworn. - 
While every consideration was urged to induce 
him to transfer his residence to the capital, the 
queen moved aside, and avoided the glances of 
her husband. Finally, he consented to start for 
Paris about noon—news which soon passed to 
the ears of the multitude outside, who signified 
their pleasure in deafening shouts. 

The troubled king stepped out upon the bal- 
cony at the side of the general, to confirm his 
promise. They were received with enthusiasm, — 
but, when the cheers and firing of musketry 
ceased for a moment, execrations were heard 
against the queen. 


' ereign! 






MIRABEAU’S JOURNEY TO THE QUEEN. 


Lafayette then led forth Marie Antoinette into 
the full presence of her enemies. She went un- 
hesitatingly, with the dauphin on one side, and 
-the little princess on the other. A loud voice 
came from below: “No children!” The queen 
quietly sent them back into the drawing-room, 
and remained alone with the marquis, In digni- 
fied silence she seemed to await death, but when 
Lafayette took her hand and kissed it, cries of 
“Long live the queen!” resounded from all sides. 
A few hours later the royal carriage drove with 
their majesties toward Paris. 

The National Assembly followed a fortnight 
after, to hold their sessions in the capital; and 
Mirabeau, accompanying them, reasserted that the 


Convention was inseparably allied with the sov- 


a SOE 


OF THE 





MIRABEAU’S JOURNEY TO THE QUEEN. 


On the 3d of July, 1790, the count and La 
Marck entered a carriage to drive to Saint-Cloud, 
where the court was sojourning since the com- 
mencement of the summer, watching in retire- 
ment the course of events, which were neither bet- 
ter nor worse for the well-being of the king and 
his consort. Each morning brought a fresh feel- 
ing of insecurity, which the evening relieved, be- 
cause what was favorably doubtful was accepted 
as true, and became a source of consolation. 

Mirabeau believed and urged that the king 
ought to take decisive measures one way or the 
other. For days he prayed Count de la Marck 
to obtain for him an interview with Marie Antoi- 
nette, expecting from it the most happy results. 
He fancied that by a few words he could change 
her convictions, and direct her in what was neces- 
La Marck had hitherto resisted 
such requests, knowing the dislike with which the 


sary to be done. 


/queen continued to regard his friend, whom he 
The 
Austrian ambassador, Count de Merey, who had a 


never dared to mention in her presence. 





255 


high place in her confidence and esteem, under- 
took, however, to conquer her aversion, after he 
himself had several conversations with Mirabeau 
as to some scheme for the salvation of the mon- 
archy. 

When informed that Marie Antoinette would 
grant an audience at Saint-Cloud, Mirabeau was so 
interested in the prospect of a reality of which he 
had so long hopelessly dreamed, that he sat silent 
by the side of La Marck. His talkative compan- 
ion, however, could not endure this a long time, 
and thought it necessary to give a few well-mean- 
ing hints and some plain advice, in order to warn 
his friend against any error into which he might 
fall from imprudence; adding, with characteristic 
politeness, that Count Mirabeau was a true aris- 
tocrat, maintaining his self-possession in the most 
difficult circumstances, and well taught as to 
what he should do, where to begin, and where to 
end. 

“You are very generous, my dear friend,” re- 
plied Mirabeau, “because you still consider my 
birth, when our National Assembly abolished the 
whole aristocracy a few weeks ago, and I am 
nothing but plain M. Riquetti, while you are good 
M. Marck!” 


have something on his mind. 


The latter laughed, but seemed to 


“T know you entertain great and beneficent 
projects for France,” said La Marck, after a pause. 
“But you must be careful about making any 
proposition to her majesty that bears too hard on 
the finances ; there are no funds to undertake any 
thing extensive. It was impossible to procure 
money on Necker’s last loan, in spite of the con- 
sent of the representatives of the nation, and 
no banker would advance one sou on it, so that 
the royal family find themselves greatly straitened 
at present.” 

““What I intend to propose will cost little, and 
“T will 
save the king at any expense, if he will promise 


bring in much,” said Mirabeau, smiling. 


to divide with me the great income that must 
necessarily accrue to him in future, or at least pay 
my debts.” 

“He will do more than that,” replied La Marck. 
“You know, I have undertaken to be your busi 


256 


ness man, and I will not rest until I have set- 
tled your affairs in the most advantageous man- 
ner.” ‘ : 

“You are right,” said Mirabeau, carelessly ; 
“aman must have money. If the monarchy is 
out of pocket, that is no reason its savior should 
But do not trouble 
yourself so much about it, my dear count ! 


be in the same condition. 
Your 
truly kind care concerning my finances I appre- 
ciate highly, but you know me well enough to be 
aware that I care very little about money in it- 
self. So much of it has slipped through my fin- 
gers that it is indifferent to me whence it comes, 
or whither it goes; and I have found that some- 
how I have generally had it in my pocket when 
Did I ever tell you that La- 
fayette, about the close of last year, offered me 


I least expected it. 


fifty thousand francs? My embarrassment was 
so great at the time, that probably something of 
it became publicly known; but this money was to 
be charged to the civil list of the king, of which 
the marquis had the control as commander of the 
National Guards. I did not like the arrangement, 
and spoke of it in such a way that the subject 
was dropped.” * 

“Tt is however important, count, that your pe- 
cuniary affairs should be well managed,” said La 
“T think and act about them 
every day. You promised to give me a complete 


Marck, gravely. 


list of your debts, and I now repeat my request.” 

“JT did undertake that miserable business,” re- 
plied Mirabeau. ‘But I am not very clear in 
such reminiscences. I have calculated that the 
total must be about two hundred and eight thou- 
sand frances, but the details have been very trou- 
blesome. Just imagine that among my unpaid 
bills I found that for the wedding-dress of my 
former wife.+ I am certain if Emilie de Mari- 
.gnane knew it, she would give up all thoughts of a 
reunion with me. I feel very much inclined to 
Now I 
think of it, I have not lately observed her in the 


National Assembly.” 


inform her of it in an anonymous letter. 





* La Marck, vol. i., p. 130. 
+ Ibid., vol. i., p. 159. 





COUNT MIRABEAUD. 


“Because you attend so rarely yourself,” said 
La Marck. 

“T speak on special occasions only, and that is 
quite sufficient for my audience, becoming daily 
more stupid, and unworthy of any thing like ora- 
tory,” replied Mirabeau, with a haughty gesture. 

“Do not let us wander from the point of our 
“Not long | 
since I had an opportunity to speak confidentially 
to the king. 


the man to reconstruct the monarchy, shattered 


conversation,” resumed La Marck. 
He acknowledged that you were 


as it is to its foundation, and he would be will- 


ing to make any sacrifice to secure your ser- 


vices.” 

“Do with me as you will, my dear friend,” re- 
plied Mirabeau. “If you really desire it, I will 
even condescend to be bribed; but on one condi- 
tion—that I defend royalty as I have hitherto de- 
But do 


not let me consider the favors bestowed in a 


fended it; it is the only way to save it! 


very serious light; let them fall into my pocket — 
without my exactly knowing how, and without 
saying much about them.” 

“So it shall be,” said La Marek. 

The travellers reached Auteuil, where they were 
to separate. According to previous agreement, 
La Marck was to proceed to Saint-Cloud to an- 
nounce his friend’s arrival, as the latter was to be 
introduced to the queen in a sort of private man- 
ner, so that even those most intimate with her 
should not be aware of it. ,The count was to 
come quietly, without any attendant, to a certain 
designated gate of the park. 

The niece of Mirabeau, the Marchioness d’ Ar- 
ragon, resided in Auteuil since the death of her 
grandfather, and had lately seen very little of her 
Uncle Gabriel, but it was at her house that the 
count intended to stay until the proper hour to 
visit Saint-Cloud. In a short time he was ready 
to finish his journey on horseback. His toilet 
was tha*eostume of the Third Estate, which he 
now always wore; he had, however, made a few 
alterations, such as a lace cravat and colored vest. 
On his way he was careful to keep as free from 
dust as a ride on the high-road permitted. 


It was a clear summer-day. Mirabeau’s com- 


eee — 


THE SAVIOR OF 


plexion, which lately had changed into a pale- 
yellow color, in consequence of some strange ac- 
tion that seemed to disturb his health, glowed in 
an apparently healthful hue. His figure resumed 
its youthful elasticity, and in a sort of rapture he 
fancied the queen’ beckoning to him, away in the 
bright distance; spurring his horse to its utmost 


speed, he was obeying the summons. 


CHAPTER XLI. 


THE SAVIOR OF THE MONARCHY. 


WueEn Mirabeau approached the appointed gate 
of the park of Saint-Cloud, he was received by a 
confidential valet de chambre of her majesty, who 
took the horse and led it to a stable. 
he pointed, with a gesture recommending silence 
and prudence, to one of the darkest alleys of the 


Returning, 


garden, where the trees above intertwined their 
foliage. They went, so quietly that the crumpling 
of a leaf could not be heard, through this path 
toward the .private gardens of the queen. Upon 
a hill stood a pavilion, shaded by acacias and 
plantains, which the guide indicated as the place 
where Marie Antoinette was awaiting her visitor, 
who passed on with quick and confident steps.* 
The queen met Mirabeau as he advanced, though 


she was hesitating and uncertain, being alone. All | 


was silent, and the evening shades were fast gather- 
ing around them. She replied to the respectful 
greeting of the count with all the grace and dig- 
nity natural to her, and which she never lost even 
when her heart was agitated by unseen conflict. 
Her visitor was too acute not to discern the strug- 
gle of her feelings on beholding him, and he him- 
self was pained in the realization of this long- 
desired meeting. He saw what was taking place 
in her mind by the momentary pallor on hervoun- 
tenance, and her anxious and wandering eyes. 





* La Marck says (vol. i., p. 189), that the queen re- 
éeived Mirabeau in her apartments at the palace; this 
must be a mistake of memory. All other authorities 
mention the pavilion as the place of the interview.— 
Vide Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 125. 


1% 










et 


- Or 74 a3 
3 a Oe 
U N T ar ey 5 
Mirabeau remembered\thatsMarie Antoinette 
of the night of the 


THE MONARCHY. 


associated him with the event 
5th of October at Versailles. 
scarcely elapsed when the terrible deputy of the 
National Assembly was depicted to her as a mon- 
ster, who had penetrated her chamber, the chief 
of robbers and assassins! The Convention had 
indeed absolved him from all suspicion of having 
participated in that outraze, but he believed that 
the queen had not altogether changed her opin- 
ions, notwithstanding the representations of his 
friends.* A smile of innocence, and devotion to 
his sovereign, beautified) his features, and the 
queen wasembarrassed. She, however, approached 
him, and felt it no difficult task to utter words of 
kindness. Again lifting her eyes to the count, 
she said, in a voice at first constrained, but soon 
regaining its natural tone: “The measure I am 
now taking would be interpreted in an evil sense 
by an enemy—some man who had sworn the de- 
struction of the monarchy, and who could not ap- 
preciate its worth for the well-being of. a great na- 
tion ; but, while speaking to a Mirabeau, all cow- 
ardly scruples vanish, and I may hope to come to 
an understanding with you about the little of good 
that yet remains!” + The queen paused and 
smiled, appearing pleased with her own introduc- 
She had 
Mirabeau” with peculiar stress, so that he 


tory speech. uttered the words “a 
seemed ready to kneel before her. 

“ Madame, I must accuse myself as being one 
of the principal causes of your sufferings!” he 
began, expressing his emotion in a gentle voice. 

“Indeed, count, you were not always friendly 
toward us!” said Marie Antoinette, gravely. 
** And may we now call you one of the few faith- 
ful to the throne of France? Then, we heartily 
welcome you. But is it not too late to save the 
crown ?” 

“No, madame,” exclaimed Mirabeau, enthusi- 
astically. “The fountain of the life of a monarchy 
is liberty !” 

“Liberty?” repeated her majesty, startled ; but 
she endeavored to recover her composure, and 





* La Marck, vol. i., p. 190. 
+ The queen’s words.—Campan, vol. ii., p. 125. 


months had ~ 


258 


looked at the count, expecting further explana- 
tions. 

‘The monarchy can ‘only be so maintained, and 
national liberty can live but through the mon- 
archy!” continued Mirabeau. “ Formerly I wished 
the nation to be independent, and I forgot the 
throne; in that I was guilty of crime! I have 
been the originator of misery, and have forced eyes 
to weep that should never be dimmed by tears ! 
But my knowledge has increased in the presence 
of this suffering, and I feel the strength of an Atlas 
to carry the monarchy on my shoulders, but only 
at the bidding of national liberty.” 

“You speak of our distress,” said the queen; 
The 
king and myself have noticed with great pleasure 


* have you not also suffered in our cause? 


your exertions in the National Assembly for the 
right of the crown to make peace or war. Your 
words were resistless. Yes, Count Mirabeau, our 
foes have become yours, and that fact should in- 
Spire us with confidence. But the Jacobins are 
wicked. They made the people of the streets at- 
tack you, and, I hear, they even attempted your 
life—and you are a member of their society, meet- 
ing in the old church of the Jacobin monks, in the 
‘Rue St. Honoré! 


plain this contradiction to me?” 


Will you be kind enough to ex- 


“T think the Jacobins will soon desire my con- 
nection with them to cease, madame,” replied 
Mirabeau, quietly. ‘‘ However, so long as they 
do not forcibly dismiss me, I shal] remain among 
them. I attend their meetings seldom, but if we 
wish successful navigation and a prosperous voy- 
age, we must study the winds and tides, and have 
some experience of the ocean-storms. To elevate 
the monarchy from the depth into which it has 
fallen, we must endeavor to gain an insight into 
the purposes of those Jacobin gentlemen, for they 
seem to be trifling with the throne. If we under- 
take to oppose the popular movement, and with- 
out any concession, we are lost; we must learn in 
which direction that movement tends, and then 
We shall afterward find that it 


is the best we could do, whatever may be our 


act accordingly. 


opinions now. Tempests purify the atmosphere ; 
and my relation with that club, madame, is simply 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


to know how and why they originate, and what 
may allay them when they become too destructive.” 

The queen could not refrain from shuddering 
at this explanation, but silently awaited further 
disclosures. 

“Tt is said that the Jacobins are endeavoring 
to take my life,” Mirabeau resumed, after a rather 
painful pause. “ Papers written against me are 
hawked about the streets, in which I am repre- 
While 
I was publicly speaking for the veto, or the right 


sented as a traitor to the people’s cause. 


of the king to decide on peace or war with for- 
cign nations, the populace were led tothe Champs . 
Elysées to select a tree on which to hang me. 
However, I allowed nothing to divert me from 
my purpose, and gained the victory. I have con- 
quered a right without which every constitution 
is but a shadow—a body without life; for, at the 
head of a free monarchy, a free sovereign must 
The 
king loses his individuality if he has not this priv-. 


exist—a living person, not a dead formula. 


ilege of the veto, and the whole state loses it with 
him. That is my idea of constitutional royalty. 
Let us do justice to all, and the throne is secure !” 

The count cast a searching glance upon the 
queen, endeavoring to read her inmost thoughts. 
He noticed that she was greatly excited, and in 
She 
drooped her head, musingly, then suddenly rising 


danger of losing her presence of mind. 


she said: “ You are right, count, we can only be 
saved by a constitution. And you may rest as- 
sured that as soon as the king and myself see 
that our dignity is not threatened, we shall adopt 
it with sincerity, never thinking of undoing any 
thing intended for the good of the nation. But 
how can we gain our object? Will not many 
dangers threaten the best of kings ?” 

Mirabeau fancied he saw tears in Marie An- 
toinette’s eyes; his love for her almost gained the 
upper hand, and came near betraying him, but, 
laying his hand on his burning brow, he soon re- 
gained his composure, and said, gravely and 
urgently: “I think his majesty should withdraw 
from the perils that menace him in Paris. I do 
not mean that he should leave France, or separ 
ate himself from the revolution and the people 


MIRABEAU AND 


or use foreign arms against his country. That 
would be imprudent, and destroy the belief enter- 
tained of the paternal and magnanimous views of 
the sovereign. I think he ought to retire tem- 
porarily to Normandy—a province devoted to 
him, and adjoining Brittany and Anjou, in both 
which districts many hearts yet beat for his wel- 
fare. Let his majesty there recall the people to 
obedience by pacifying proclamations, reminding 
them that, from the first days of his reign, he 
has proved himself an enemy to despotism, and 
all abuses and dissipation; that he will never 
cease to use every means for the amelioration of 
the condition of his subjects, and that he will give 
an example of yielding to their political rights, 
Then 
we shall have a new order of things, instead of 


as no king of his dynasty ever did before. 


that which can no longer be defended, not even 
by myself!” 

Marie Antoinette listened calmly, and with an 
affecting assent; but soon all her firmness re- 
turned, and she said, with a proud smile: “I 
thank you, count! I feel that some confidence 
still dwells in my heart. I think all will yet be 
well, and the future compensate for the pres- 
ent. I never could believe that the purposes of 
my enemies were wholly bad. I beg you, let this 
not be the last time, as it is the first, that you 
communicate your ideas to us. Write down every 
thing you may think useful, giving your advice, 
which will be received with gratitude, and send 
your remarks to the king; thus you will greatly 
oblige him.” 

Mirabeau felt himself dismissed. He looked 
at the queen with a glowing eye, and, approach- 
ing her, said, in a voice trembling with emo- 
tion and audacity: “ Madame, when the Empress 
Maria Theresa, your august mother, granted the 
honor of an audience to one of her subjects, she 
never permitted him to depart without allowing 
him to kiss her hand,” * 

Marie Antoinette offered him her hand grace- 
fully and cheerfully. 
archy!” exclaimed the count, overwhelmed in his 


“This kiss saves the mon- 


THE JACOBINS. 259 


enthusiasm, while he pressed his lips upon the 
white hand of the queen, and then hastened into 
the garden, where the birds were at rest, and 
the flowers scattering the perfume that he so 
much loved. As he was walking down from the 
height on which the pavilion was built, he 
thought he saw some one hastily hiding in the 
bushes, wearing the uniform of a national guards- 
man. Mirabeau pursued him to assure himself 
that his conversation with her majesty had not 
been overheard by a traitor, but his efforts were 
vain. He approached the gate with sad fore- 
boding, where he found the attendant with his 
horse, and rode slowly away. Suddenly he heard 
his name called, and, turning, saw the carriage of 
La Marck, who had overtaken his friend, to ask 
for information as to what had occurred, 

“The queen has been taken ill,” said La Marck. 
“Tt seems the interview excited and fatigued her 
greatly. Madame Campan has just told me that 
her majesty was obliged to retire immediately 
after your departure.* About what very stirring 
topics did you converse?” 

“J think Marie Antoinette: was disquieted by 
the mere appearance of my person,” replied Mir- 
abeau, riding at the side of the coach, and telling 
all that passed between him and his sovereign. 


CHAPTER XLII. 
MIRABEAU AND THE JACOBINS. 


Ir was about six o’clock in the evening when 
an unusually large assembly met at the church 
of the Jacobin monks in the Rue St. Honoré—so 
great was the concourse that they scarcely found 
room to stand. The old edifice had been turned 
into a regular session-hall. It was of oblong 
figure, where seats for the members-of the club 
rose as in an amphitheatre. At each end were 
two platforms, with benches ascending in the 


same way, and intended for the public, who 





* Weber, vol. ii., p. 38. 





* Madame Campan. 


260 


could only gain entrance by means of tickets of 
admission. In the most conspicuous places was 
painted in large red letters: “ Vivre libre ou 
mourir !” 

The old church, with its dark corners and 
arches, had a singularly odd and confused ap- 
pearance, now that it had become a modern par- 
liamentary house, showing so little taste and art 
in its arrangement. Yet something picturesque 
could be discovered. Behind the chair of the 
president was an altar, around which gathered 
the gray memories of a far-distant worship—the 
same altar at which the monks of former genera- 
In the 


centre was a tablet, on which was engraved a 


tions bowed in their religious adoration. 


list of the rights of man, surrounded with deco- 
rations, arabesques, and symbols of various kinds. 
In the once sacred places themselves stood the 
busts of Jean Jacques Rousseau and: Helvetius. 
Above these philosophers drooped the standards 
of liberty, and in their midst a bundle of pikes, 
surmounted with a civic crown, One of the 
pikes, more prominent than the rest, was tipped 
with the red cap. Pictures hung upon the walls, 
telling the story of the Bastile and the procession 
of the fish-mongers to Versailles, with other il- 
lustrations of the events of the times. 

The object of the meeting was to elect a new 
president, and to pass judgment upon Mirabeau. 
He had determined unreservedly to oppose the 
secret machinations of his enemies; and had 
offered to be present at a session when all accusa- 
tions against him would be openly published, that 
he might have an opportunity to refute them, 
designating the proceedings against him in his ab- 
He demanded a bold judici- 
ary action, such as became the men of the people 


sence as cowardice. 


and the advocates of truth and liberty. 

Mirabeau insisted the more urgently for a pub- 
lic and manly decision, because the republicans 
were beginning to associate the name of the queen 
with his own, intimating that his visit to Saint- 
On the day 
following that interview, an. account of it was pub- 
lished in the Orateur du Peuple, edited by ‘the 
remorseless Fréron, giving particulars, which, al- 


Cloud had a dishonorable purpose. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


though purposely distorted, had some probability. 
The count could only come to the conclusion that 
the conversation had been overheard, as he had 
from the first feared, and this was another induce- 
ment to force his adversaries to an undisguised 
battle, where he had no fear of his successful de- 


| fence. 


The count generally came late, and this evening 
he did not make his appearance until some time 
after the president had opened the meeting. Du- 
pont, one of the most violent members, occupied 
the speakers’ stand, giving a picture of the sit- 
uation of France since the decision of the Na- 
tional Assembly concerning the veto. The transi- 
tion to Mirabeau was easy, for it was imputed to 
his parliamentary eloquence and perseverance that 
this measure (supposed to be inimical to the peo- 
ple) passed, in spite of the exertions of Barnave, 
Robespierre, and Pétion. At the moment when 
the obnoxious member’s name was about to be 
pronounced, and all present were waiting for it, © 
Mirabeau entered. He made a great sensation, 
for his presence was not anticipated. He was 
received with frowns, exclamations of rebuke, and 
anger, and even threats; but he was not moved 
Proudly, but with 
a good-natured smile, he walked to a vacant seat, 


to change his calm demeanor. 
turning attentively toward the orator. All were 
silent, and Dupont, who almost lost his self-con 
trol at the entrance of the count, resumed the 
thread of his discourse with greater impetuosity. 

The name of Mirabeau fell from the speaker’s 
lips, characterizing him as a man who had usurped 
a parliamentary dictatorship in the National As- 
sembly, and whose despotism was highly detri- 
mental to liberty; “and it is with a melancholy 
feeling of duty,” he said, ‘‘that I fulfil the oath 
every Jacobin has taken, to designate those who 
are dangerous. If, however, Mirabeau can hon- 
orably justify himself, I will be the first to offer 
him the hand of friendship.” 

When Dupont had concluded, the accused 
walked calmly toward the speakers’ stand, asking 
permission to say a few words. His remarks ex- 
pressed sorrow that he was persecuted so relent- 
lessly here and elsewhere, while in the National 


MIRABEAU AND 


Assembly (the rightful place for such conflicts), 
no one dared to attack him, and that general 
charges as well as secret whisperings proved 
nothing against any man’s conduct or character, 
He demanded specific accusations, being certain 
that he could disprove them to the satisfaction of 
all unbiassed minds. 

This simple management of his position, plainly 
bearing evidences of contempt, made an impres- 
sion—but such as deepened the hatred of Mira- 
beau’s adversaries, who on this day meant to an- 
nihilate him at a single blow. Alexander de La- 
meth hurried to the tribune, stumbling against 
La- 
- meth’s eyes flashed an intense hate, and vengeance 
played in all his distorted features. 


the count, who was descending the steps. 


He was a 
man of low and slight stature, of a serpent-like 
motion; one who was now so much under the 
dominion of passion, that his manner conveyed 
even a more decided challenge than his words. 
He began by lauding the Jacobin Club, regret- 
ting that they should have provided a refuge for 
those who, to act against the cause of the people, 
had put on a mask of patriotism to conceal a 
despotic face; for only as a member of that so- 
ciety could Mirabeau, assuming a false friendship 
for the nation, move the lever of public opinion. 
“That man found it to- his advantage,” he said, 
“to remain a member of the club, because as 
such only could he maintain his position, and 
serve his secret masters. If he would leave us, 
much would be better understood in the situation 
But,” the orator concluded, “ the 
man will presently address you again, and tell you 
that he is the best friend the people have; that 
he never voted against their interests; never 
spoke in favor of the absolute veto and the as- 
sumed rights of the king. He will again tell you 


of France. 


that he is enthusiastic only for your good, and 
cares nothing for the caresses of those who are 
enthroned above the people!” 
This speech had various effects. Applause fol- 
lowed in some parts of the hall, and in others 
pwere heard words any thing but inimical to Mira- 
beau. He turned his head in all directions, as if 


to read the countenances of the members, and 





THE JACOBINS. 261 


discover his friends. Several men in blouses sat 
near, whose demonstrations were satisfactory to 
him ; for the charm of his personal influence on 
people of their class did not now belie itself. 
While his enemies fancied that sentence would be 
passed on him, these men respectfully took their 
short pipes from their mouths, and bending tow- 
ard him shook his hand as a sign and seal of their 
confidence and friendship. One of them, with his 
head bound up in a blood-stained\ rag, patted the 
count familiarly on the shoulder, and, in a stut- 
tering voice, said: ‘‘ Speak, Mirabeau; speak, and 
all is well again,” 

“Speak, Mirabeau!” was soon repeated by 
many others. 

The count, standing in his place, said: “ Cit- 
izens, I may not yet speak, for the triumvirate 
have not fully declared themselves. They consist, - 
as you know, of those great friends of the people, 
Messrs. Dupont, Alexandre Lameth, and Barnave. 
We have heard the first and the second, and are 
waiting now to hear what the generous Barnave 
has to say. He knows, no doubt, much that is 
evil of me. And then I will tell you at once what 
my opinion of them is—whether or not they are 
just and magnanimous!” 

“Bravo, Mirabeau! Let Barnave speak, and 
then we must have no more accusations!” said 
many voices in no gentle tones. 

Barnave rose to say, in his usual solemn and 
half-sentimental style: “I decline to speak; but 
I unite in all the charges brought by my friends 
Dupont and Lameth! ” . 

“ And I accuse Mirabeau of a bungling national 
constitution—actual high-treason against the peo- 
ple,” cried the piercing voice of Robespierre. 
“He has united himself with the opponents of 
liberty by his continual demand for a constitution, 
involving in it, in order to destroy them, as in a 
trap, all the rights of a nation!” 

Mirabeau now ascended the tribune, and began 
to address the club, in the midst of a profound 
silence. “Citizens!” he said, shaking his locks, 
as if he felt at home. “ Excuse me from disprov- 
ing what my colleague Robespierre (who is cer- 
tainly a friend of the nation) has just asserted. 


262 


It is not a pleasant business to dispute with men 
If the National As- 
sembly has become a mere constitution-making 
machine, it is not my fault, for I have but one 
vote there. 


who are useful to France, 


I would rather that our great people 
had framed in a primary assembly a form of gov- 
ernment worthy of themselves: they are com- 
petent—they have their prophet and lawgiver 
among themselves. As the affair, however, has 
been placed in our hands, we must work at it, 
just as our honorable friends, the bricklayers and 
joiners, in building a house. Now, as you permit 
me not to refute a man of honor like Robespierre, 
I ask you, do you seriously wish me to say any- 
thing about the charges of Messrs. Dupont and 
Lameth? Before vou answer, allow me to read a 
few words to you from a paper I have here.” 

Mirabeau drew forth his pocket-book, and tak- 
ing from it a paper, read in a low and almost 
timid voice as follows: ‘‘‘ Action before the Crim- 
inal Court concerning the accusation made by 
Citizen Riquettf against a pamphlet entitled 
“Great and fully-discovered Treason of Count 
Mirabeau.” The Criminal Court, Commissioner 
Defresne presiding, declare: first, that the au- 
thor of this pamphlet has been discovered to be 
a certain Lacroix, the son of a royal procurator, at 
Chalons-sur-Marne, who admits the fact. Second, 
that this youth, as yet a minor, and exceedingly 
fanatical, was incited to write the work by Alex- 
andre Lameth, Dupont, and Barnave, who prom- 
Third, that 
six thousand copies of the libel were printed, and 


ised him protection against any suit. 


gratuitously distributed in the streets. Fourth, 
that Citizen Riquetti may institute a suit against 
said Lameth, Dupont, and Barnave.’” * 
Mirabeau gave the paper officially sealed to the 
person nearest him, to have it passed around 
to the members of the club, who were all in the 
wildest excitement. 
“T have desisted from making any charge!” 
added Mirabeau, quickly, in his tremendous voice. 
“Tam united with these gentlemen by a sacred 
bond. 


I will never rend it. We are here as one 





* Montigny, vol. vii., p. 256. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


man, in the name of the people, and I offend them 
if I accuse my brethren, I forgive Messrs. La- 
meth, Dupont, and Barnave; and I beg you, my 
friends, to follow my example.” 

Boisterous applause followed these words. All 
pressed around Mirabeau, but he motioned them 
to return to their seats. Lameth and Dupont sat 
silently with pale and angry faces, while Barnave’s 
expressed pity. Lameth wished to speak, but he 
was roughly ordered to keep his place until Count 
Mirabeau had ceased. Notwithstanding the abo- 


lition of titles, the people would call him “ their 


count.” 


“T have many faults,” resumed Mirabeau, “ but 
not that of treason to my friends, for such I con- 
sider this truly patriotic society. Llove the Jaco- 


| bins, and I wish them to enter the ministry of the 


king. I bave drawn up a paper on this subject, 
after consultation with the Count de Provence. I 
am sure you take no offence at my having spoken 
to him? 


though in important matters they are likely toe 


Even friends may sometimes differ, 
agree. The Count de Provence is an enlightened 
man, and the king listens to his advice. We must 
have a new ministry, for the present one is faith- 
Jess and corrupt! Ihave made propositions to 
have you share in the public service, for thus alone 
can France enjoy a guaranty forthe future. Long 
live the Jacobin ministry!” All responded in a 
shout, which shook the old church of the Jacobin 
monks, 

“ Ts not that selling us to the court?” exclaimed 


Robespiere. ‘ Rather let us begin a universal con- 


‘flagration and massacre to-day, tban have this 


hollow reconciliation with our enemies!” 

Many members of the club were again of Robes- 
piere’s opinion, and manifested their approbation, 
but the majority were in favor of Mirabeau, who 
stood calmly waiting the moment to continue his 
address. 

“ Even liberty must have organization, govern- 
‘““ There 
is no pleasure in assuming the duties of a royal 


ment, and order,” resumed the count. 


minister, and Iam glad of that decision of the 
National Assembly which excludes any one of its 
members from an office of that kind. The thirty 


~ 


MIRABEAU AND THE JACOBINS. 


votes on the left, which carried this question, 
thought they were embarrassing me. No, gentle- 
men, you are deceived! I shall continue to work ; 
my energy is not derived from nor dependent on 

‘a portfolio, but rather on the applause and hap- 
piness of the people, which I am endeavoring to 
secure! I wish no deputy to become a minister; 
but there are honest laborers and tradesmen here 
whom I would be glad to see as chiefs of the na- 
tional bureaus. But every thing should be done 
according to the understanding and will of the 
people, in order to be useful to them. The people 
above all!” . 

Mirabeau descended amid loud applause. He 
was congratulated on every side; many seized his 
hands and clothes, showing him how he was be- 
loved. In fact, it was with difficulty that he could 
escape from the crowd of admirers, as he passed 
from the heated hall to breathe the fresh air. Ex- 
cusing himself on account of indisposition, he left 
the meeting while the chairman was calling to 
order for the transaction of other business—the 
election of a new president. 

The count walked up and down an adjoining 
corridor, as if waiting for some one, and with a 

. smile listened to the shuffling made by the mem- 
bers in depositing their votes. The dark passage- 
way led to a small enclosure outside, and thence 
to a side-street, near which Mirabeau long waited 
in impatience. As he lingered in the twilight lean- 
ing against an old stone cross that had long stood 
there, he heard footsteps, and soon a figure ap- 
proached whom he recognized as La Marck. 

“JT bring you good tidings,” whispered the 
new-comer. “The king consents to every thing. 
He will find it to his interest in accepting your 
services. You are to write notes, memorials, and 

reports of all kinds about what is important or 
remarkable, and your advice and judgment will 
have great weight in the decisions of his majesty. 
He also expects you to maintain your influence in 
the National Assembly, where you have already 
done such good service to the monarchy. The 
‘king begs you to accept a monthly allowance of 
six thousand francs. Your debts, according to our 
recent calculation, amounting to two hundred and 





263 


eight thousand francs, will be paid from his ma- 
The Archbishop of Toulouse, M. 
de Fontanges, whose devotion to the royal cause 


jesty’s purse. 


you are aware of, has received orders to attend to 
these affairs. You must send your reports to him. 
The archbishop will also pay three hundred francs 
monthly to your copyist, M. de Comps; and as he 
will have to be in the secret, we must secure his 
silence. Besides, the king intrusted to me four 
checks, signed by his own hand, each for two 
hundred and fifty thousand frances, saying: ‘If 
Count Mirabeau serves me well and faithfully, as 
he has promised, you will deliver these to him at 
the end of the session, which together make a 
million !’* Here are the bills!” added La Marek, 
in a lower voice, opening his pocket-book. 

“ Well, let it go!” said Mirabeau, looking at 
“The 


court have always had money enough for traitors ; 


the signature of Louis XVI. with a smile. 


it is right that they should expend some on a true 
friend !” 
piness, he struck his hand by way of emphasis on 
the weather-beaten cross, and added: “ Let life 


Suddenly becoming excited in his hap- 


Let us build up the new monarchy, 
Let the golden goblet 


again foam with pleasure! We can best. fulfil 


begin again ! 


and enjoy its auspices! 


our ideas when free from pecuniary pressure. 
The king has shown himself appreciative, wise, 
and prudent: but I do not think I can serve him 
better than by writing just as I feel. I cannot 
lie—no, not for millions; and, besides, falsehoods 
I hope, however, to keep him 
The 


times are indeed evil; and, if we do not act right, 


would ruin him. 


alive, as every honest man in France does. 


the dead bodies of their majesties will yet be 
dragged over the flag-stones.t| But let us have 
confidence. Let us often celebrate in a sparkling 
cup the union of the monarchy and liberty!” 

“ Farewell, my friend!” said Lia Marck, press- 
“T do not think it 


advisable to stay longer so near the Jacobins. 


ing the hand of Mirabeau. 


You are to dine with me to-morrow, you know.” 
He hastened away, while Mirabeau looked dream- 





* La Marck, vol. i., p. 163. 
+ An exclamation of Mirabeau, often repeated during 
the latter part of his life.—La Marck, vol. i. 


264 


ily after him. Then, returning to the hall, and 
finding that the tedious election was not yet over, 
he remained in the anteroom. In an’ adjoining 
apartment was a sideboard, where the count no- 
ticed his secretary Comps, whom he had taken 
with him to the meeting.’ Calling the young man, 
he requested him to bring a glass of lemonade. 
When Comps returned, Mirabeau thought it 
strange that he emerged from a side-door leading 
to a small cabinet, in which might have been seen 
the gloomy Lameth, looking more than ordinarily 
repulsive, and exchanging a few words with the 
secretary. 

Shouts of joy issued from the hall, mingled 
with hisses. The chairman had read the result 
of the votes, and it was Mirabeau’s name that 
stood foremost. The members rushed out to con- 
duct him in triumph to the presidential chair. 
He quickly drank the lemonade, and then re- 
turned to the church, to receive the congratula- 
tions of his friends. ‘‘ Mirabeau is president of 
the Jacobin Club !”’ was heard on every side. 

“Who could have anticipated that I would on 
this day become King of the Jacobins!” said the 
count to himself, as he again ascended the tribune 


to express his thanks. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 
HENRIETTE. 


Mrraseav took up his residence in a palace 
in the Chausée d’Antin, the most beautiful quar- 
iter of Paris; he had bought this property at an 
extravagant price. He disposed of most of the 
‘articles of his former vagrant life, and the costly 
‘style now adopted indicated a permanent set- 
tlement. He displayed a taste for luxury such as 
he was little suspected to possess. His suites of 
apartments, in which ‘art found a place for all that 
‘was beautiful, and the expensively-provided table, 
‘at which his numerous friends were daily feasted, 
asserted the position the count intended to hold 


in Paris. Nor did he neglect more intellectual 





COUNT MIRABEAU., 


enjoyments, for he bought the large library of 
Buffon—a treasure which he hoped to enjoy in 
more quiet times. He had, however, lost some- 
thing by this change in his circumstances—the 
society of his friends Yet-Lee and Coco, who until 
then were indispensable. 

These companions were still dear to Mirabeau’s 
heart, but he had to domicile them in a quiet 
street near the Luxembourg; the retirement and 
the salubrious walks in the neighboring gardens 
being the chief reasons for their removal. Ma- 
dame de Nehra’s illness had increased, and she 
was rapidly failing. An unusually brilliant light 
beamed in her eyes; her slender form was. shat- 
tered by an incessant cough; her complexion be- 
came daily more transparent, and a fevered glow 
upon her cheeks too often heralded the rapid ap- 
proach of death. Her association with Mirabeau 
resulted thus, for he did not sufficiently consider 
her delicate constitution, and, like a true and lov- 
ing woman, she had sacrificed her comfort and 
health in accompanying him in all his wander- 
ings and poverty. 

Poor Henriette, at the time of the count’s im- 
proved fortune, had withdrawn to the farthest 
corner of his sumptuous residence, in order not to 
disturb others ; but she soon saw that her disease 
interrupted the happiness of all. This was the 
more painful to her, as Mirabeau was very irri- 
table when disturbed in his few hours of sleep, 
and was often in no gentle mood with his suffer- 
ing friend. 

One morning Madame de Nehra entered the 
apartment where the count was dressing for 
breakfast, She appeared fresh and buoyant, 
while her manner indicated some. firm purpose as 
Mirabeau, who him- 


self was beginning to suffer from nervous attacks, 


well as an unbounded love. 


never before noticed in him, was startled by her 
appearance, but he kindly awaited her communi- 
cation. 

“Listen, Mirabeau,” said Henriette, in a cheer- 
ful voice, but not wholly free from melancholy, 
“T have come to you with a petition—I wish you 
would dismiss me; for I am only a burden to 


you, giving you no rest night or day.” 


MIRABEAU AND THE JACOBINS. 


“What nonsense, Henriette!” replied the 
count, angrily. “I am not the man so to forsake 
a friend, especially on account of illness. Be- 
sides, what will become of me, if you leave me? 
What in the world has put such an idea into your 
head ?” 

“But hear me,” resumed Madame de Nehra. 
“T know not what to do with my cough—I am 
not now fit to be seen in your beautiful apart- 
ments, and I know, my friend, that I greatly dis- 
turb you during the hours of the night. The 
great public movement you are controlling con- 
sumes your strength. If you do not take care 
of yourself, we lose you before your time—a loss 
that can never be supplied for the friends of liber- 
ty. And am [I to be the unfortunate creature to 
deprive you of your necessary sleep? I ask you 
therefore to let me go. You will not be separated 
from me; my thoughts will turn continually to 
you, entreating you not to forget your Yet-Lee. 
And perhaps I may soon recover; my enemy may 
be conquered, and then I shall appeal to you for 
my old place in your heart and at your feet, and 
you will not reject me?” She ceased, and clung 
to him as she used to do in the first days of their 
love. 

Looking at her musingly, and kissing her, the 
count said, “And whither will you go, if you 
leave me?” 

“T should like to remain on your property,” 
“ I have been thinking of the 
pretty little sunny dwelling opposite the garden 


replied Henriette. 


of the Luxembourg, which you leased some time 
ago, but did not occupy because you were enabled 
As you 
are still paying rent for that small house, and I 


to purchase this magnificent residence. 


am as usual economical, I thought you might per- 
mit me to live there until I cease to cough. The 
sweet tranquillity of the neighborhood attracts me, 
and, as I can be of little more advantage to you, 
T shall 
not want much—the service of an old waiting- 


let me pass my few remaining days there. 


woman will be all I need.” 

Mirabeau silently paced the room several times. 
He looked pale and anxious, for a change had 
recently taken place in his whole appearance. 





265 


Then he said, with profound sadness: “ Your 
words, though loving, awaken a melancholy senti- 
ment within me that I cannot express, because I 
feel it too deeply. However, you must be con- 
scious that my affection for you has never 
changed, even if I appeared to neglect you. I 
am borne on the waves of popular commotion, 
and who knows whither? One thing is certain: 
I cannot tell where I may live—whether I shall 
have a home or not, or whether I am to be the 
object of love or hate. We have started a rev- 
olution, and are continually occupied with it; and 
yet treason will be an accusation against many on 
both sides. 
by the force of circumstances, and must blindly 


We who mean honestly are driven 


obey. Such a man as myself, in my present cir- 
cumstances, is no worthy object of love, and ut- 
terly unable to promote comfort or peace around . 
him in his domestic relations. 

“You are ill, poor Yet-Lee, and I cannot be of 
service, or-minister to you as I would, with the 
tenderness of a father. I am even irritated with 
you when your cough disturbs my rest. Besides, 
I live in such a whirl of excitement, that no one 
can expect consideration where I am. The dif 
ferent factions hold their meetings here, and de- 
vour my time, my patience, and energies. I am 
constantly sent for; councils at all hours are held 
in my apartments; Iam required to give break- 
fasts and dinners; I am dragged against my will 
to the hotels, and obliged to manceuvre from morn- 
ing till evening to come to some result on the 
question of a republic or a monarchy, or both 
together. It is not hard to imagine, therefore, 
that the presence of yourself and Coco makes me 
feel sad. You are so out of your element, that I 
have often reflected what would become of you, 
until we could again live tranquilly together, away 
from the turmoil, the follies, and wickedness of 
political life. I have indeed sometimes thought 
that perhaps it would be better if we did tempo- 
rarily separate; that you might take care of your- 
selves in retirement, until I could claim you again 
—you who are the happiness and glory of my 
life!” 

Henriette pressed his hand to her lips, and ~ 


266 


bathed it in ber tears.. “Ah,” she exclaimed, 
“ do our wishes again agree, dear friend ?” 
“Yes,” he replied, looking embarrassed ; “ our 
hearts and minds were always in union, and we 
can never forsake each other. . I will arrange the 
dwelling near the Luxembourg as comfortably as 
possible for you, and take charge of your house- 
hold expenses; you need have no fear of want— 
you will be better off than myself in these uncer- 
You will have to take 


Coco with you, my good friend, for I know of no 


tain and troubled days. 


place where he could be safer: he loves you, and 
you have always devoted yourself to him with a 
mother’s tenderness. With me, the boy would be 
ruined ; and who knows what will become of me, 
in the conflicts growing daily more dangerous? 
With you is deposited forever the poetry of my 
life, and you will keep me in your memory. I 
consent to your removal, but on condition that 
I often see you. I must be permitted daily to pay 
my respects to the Countess Yet-Leé.” - 

Henriette regained her cheerfulness, continuing 
the levity with which Mirabeau had skilfully con- 
cluded, but her sad smile betrayed the wounded 
heart. Coco came running from an adjoining 
room, and was highly delighted when told that he 
was henceforth to live with Madame de Nehra, 
near the beautiful garden of the Luxembourg, in 
which he was fond of playing. He was so happy 
that the count reminded him with some sensitive- 
ness that he would then no longer remain with 
his father in the palace of the Chaussée d’Antin; 
but the boy did not seem disturbed in his pleasure 
at the contemplated change. 

Several members of the National Assembly were 
announced, interrupting the conversation. Im- 
portant matters were to come under discussion, 
both in the Convention and the Jacobin Club, and 
for a time the debates into which Mirabeau im- 
mediately entered buried in forgetfulness his do- 
mestic cares. 

Henriette observed that the count busied him- 
self on the following day with her removal, with- 
out being reminded of it, giving his orders to his 
secretary, M. Comps, and manifesting the great- 
est. care for his two loved ones by noticing every 





COUNT MIRABEAU. — 


detail for their comfort. He asked Cabanis to take 
charge of Madame de Nehra. The doctor had 
latterly renewed his relations with Mirabeau, par- 
ticularly since the health of the latter began to 
Cabanis dif- 
fered widely in his political views from the count, 
for the former was a radical republican, like Cham- 
fort. ° 


fail in a very mysterious manner. 


The hour approached when Henriette was to 
bid farewell to her friend. He would not admit 
by any means that it was a separation, and, with 
many humorous remarks and caresses, led her and 
Coco to the carriage, accompanying them himself 
to their new quarters. But Madame de Nehra 
could not consider her removal in any other light 
than that of a delicate breaking up of their former 
relations ; and several times she stopped on the 
staircase to embrace the count with ejaculations 
of regret, looking at him tenderly and anxiously. 

“‘ My friend, if your opponents only refrain from 
doing you harm!” she whispered, repeatedly. 
“JT am tortured by gloomy presentiments, as I 
leave your side, resigning my duty of watching 
over you, and discovering from your appearance 
whether you were well, and had escaped the snares 
of your enemies. I leave you with a heavy heart. 
I feel as if I ought to mourn more on your account 
than my own. What will they do to you? What 
will be the nature of their assault? How will 
they strike you?” 

Mirabeau was about to reply jocosely, kissing 
her brow, when he shuddered, grew pale, and 


stumbled on the steps. ‘I fear that some evil 


| has already befallen me, Henriette!” he said, pla- 


cing his hand on his heart. 

During the first few days, the count visited 
Madame de Nehra and Coco several times; but 
soon his attentions ceased altogether, and she 
would have heard little of him, if Dr. Cabanis and 
the faithful Chamfort had not brought her infor- 
mation. 


THE POISON. 


OHAPTER XLIV. 


THE POISON. 


MrraBEav’s vast physical strength seemed to | 


nave gradually been destroyed—a fact at last so 
plain as to lead to suspicion of foul play, His 
suffering commenced with violent attacks of fever 
and inflammation of the eyes, renewed from time 
to time, with intense pain. He was anxious 
chiefly on account of the swelling of his feet, and 
the spasms in his chest and arms. He was also 
tormented by an affection in the regions of the 
His 


muscular system, formerly of such power, became 


stomach, which made him despair of life. 


so weak that he often asked, with a sad smile, 
whether any one could tell him how he was so 
strangely transformed, as if into a nervous and hys- 
terical woman. The most surprising change had 
taken place in his hair. Formerly his locks, as 
_ if instinct with life, waved around his ponderous 
head, but now they were spotted and torn, like 
leaves dead in the autumn winds.* 

It was singular that he did not consent to receive 
the visits of Henriette and Coco. He felt himself 
so weak that, at the thought of again seeing them, 
the perspiration stood in drops on his forehead. 
Madame de Nehra, though herself on the brink of 
the grave, came every morning with the boy to 
the palace in the Chausée d’Antin, but always de- 
parted with a bowed head, and the little Coco did 
not repress expressions of disappointment and 
anger. 

The daily habits of Mirabeau were of course 
changed by this unexplained illness, whose ori- 
gin he vainly endeavored to discover. He was 
obliged to renounce all exercise—the practice of 
fencing, in which he indulged in his leisure mo- 
ments, as well as the rides on his swift courser. 
Even the short distance from his‘residence to the 
session-hall of the National Assembly he could 
only pass over in a carriage, which was always 
surrounded by the people, with whom he was more 





* Cabanis, ‘‘ Journal de la Maladie et de la Mort de 
H. G. Riquetti de Mirabeau,” p. 288. (At the end of 
the work: ‘‘ Du Degré de Certitude de la Médecine.’’) 





267 


popular than ever. He had been elected president 
of the Assembly by the votes of all parties, ex- 
cept those of the well-known thirty of the extreme 
left. 

The count felt somewhat better one morning, 
and arose to finish a memorial intended for the 
king and queen; he was interrupted in the middle 
of a sentence by something like a sudden blow in 
his chest, and his eyes again became inflamed. 
With a sigh he tied on the bandage that prevented 
the bright daylight from increasing his sufferings, 
hoping to be able to continue his labors after a 
short rest. He toyed with the inkstand, repre- 
senting some antique figure, and set with precious 
stones; but at last he pushed it from him in de- 
spair. His pains became intolerable, and, tearing 
the bandage off, he walked up and down, as if 
haunted by the Furies. 

Count de la Marck was announced ; he entered 
softly, and made kind inquiries. Mirabeau sank 
into an easy-chair, pointing to a seat beside him 
for his friend, who always had some word of con- 
solation that the disease was but a natural con- 
sequence of over-exertion. 

“T am of opinion,” said La Marck, “that your 
intense labor, as president of the National Assem- 
bly, has affected your health. And, permit me 
to say, itis conceded on all sides that such position 
has never been filled in so distinguished a man- 
ner, either in France or England, and you have 
added additional lustre to your name. You satisfy 
all parties by your dignity, grace, and justice, 
throwing light upon every question; and you es- 
tablish order, where no other man could succeed ; 
one word calms all tumult. And, moreover, you 
take part in the debates. Yesterday, notwith- 
standing your evident physical pain, you spoke 
My dear friend, this 
will not do; you exact too much from yourself, 


five times. on one subject. 


and I have come to propose that you ask a few 
weeks’ leave of absence from the Convention. It 
is our great object to keep you alive! We have 
no other man on whose shoulders we could lay 
the welfare of France and of the monarchy!” 
“Tt is not that, my friend,” replied Mirabeau. 
“Work is mere play to me, always increasing in- 


268 


stead of weakening my power; but something 1s 
tormenting my chest and stomach. If I could 
believe such a thing possible, I would declare that 
a slow poison had been administered to me. I 
feel that I am fast dying—as if placed over a 
fire increasing in intensity every day. ” * 

“For Heaven’s sake, how can you have such 
thoughts!” exclaimed La Marck, seizing his 
friend’s hands. ‘I am as sure of it as I am of my 
existence, that no one in France has either the 
courage or the motive to injure in any way the 
best man in the country !” 

“T do not know that,” rejoined Mirabeau. 
“But some enemy, it is certain, is within me, 
drying up the fountains of my life.” 

“ This is a fine March day,” resumed La Marck, 
in a soft voice. ‘We have seldom had so warm 
a spring. My equipage is below—let us drive to 
the Marais, the property you bought near Argen- 
teuil. A few hours in the fresh air among your 
fields will do you good. Iam sure the time you 
pass in our new session-hall is deleterious to your 
health: since we began to assemble in the small, 
damp Salle de Mandge, we are nearly all ill; some 
of the most robust members of the assembly are 
suffering with inflammation of the eyes and fever, 
in the same manner as yourself.” 

“You are amiable, Count de la Marck!” re- 
“ But I can 
undertake nothing to-day ; and I have a thorough 
dislike to the Marais. I had an attack of colic 
If I 


regain my strength at all, I mean to finish these 


plied Mirabeau, smiling sorrowfully. 


while there, during which I expected to die. 


notes tothe king ; they will probably be the last he 
receives from me. I confess to you that I become 
daily more dissatisfied with the demeanor of the 
monarch, and I shall be glad when my engage- 
ment with him ends. He has not acted on my 
advice in a single instance, however necessary I 
That Necker has been dismissed 


we owe to the urgency of the National Assembly. 


represented it. 


May he slumber at his Coppet as a deceased 
financier ! 
“But what is to become of the monarchy, if 


COUNT MIRABEAU, 


Louis XVI. continues in this indecision, so unwor 
thy of atrue man? Indignant at his conduct, I 
have sent him no reports for several days; as 
soon as I feel a little better, I will speak my mind 
for the last time! Truly with a strong arm the 
king ought to oppose this assembly, that already 
If the Conven- 


tion cannot bridle its vain and overbearing pas- 


wears the red cap over one ear. 


sion, it must be dissolved; and the electors so in- 
fluenced that they send other deputies, with sound 
views concerning the monarchy and the regulation 
of state affairs. If this cannot soon be done, all 
is lost. I again repeat, that both their majesties 
will be dragged dead through the streets! It is 
true, life is not worth much: am I not one of the 
first that falls beneath the sickle of Fate ? ” * 
Mirabeau was so exhausted that La Marck 
asked to be dismissed, and his friend sank into 
slumber. The door was hastily opened, and 
Mirabeau’s sister, the Marchioness de Saillant, 
entered with her two younger daughters. She 
had heard of her brother’s ill-health, and hastened 
to Paris. The count awoke surprised, but when 
he saw who it was he became quite cheerful. 
Madame de Saillant, embracing him tenderly 
but with anxiety, said : “‘ My brother, we must keep 
Another 


present of wines and liquors from unknown per- 


a stricter watch upon your servants. 


sons has arrived; and notwithstanding my orders 
that they should be poured out of the window, 
your steward has kept them. Lately a cup of 
coffee was sent to you from the neighborhood, 
ostensibly from a poor woman, who wished to 
One 
of the inmates of your house tasted the beverage, 


show her sympathy for the great Mirabeau, 


and was seized with vomiting. We have a legion 
of enemies to combat, and we must guard your 
precious life ! ” 

“J know you are troubled on my account,” 
replied her brother, smiling. “But calm yourself, 
I pray you. Iam already mortally wounded, or 
I am invulnerable. Iam informed that you have 
ordered your son to sleep armed in the room 


adjoining my cabinet. It is true, I have many 





* Mirabeau’s words.—Dumont, ‘‘ Souvenirs,’ p. 226. 





* La Marck, vol. i., pp. 218, 224. 


/ 


THE POISON. 


foes. The extreme party, who are nothing now, 
and hope to become every thing after my death, 
are interested in shortening my life; they have 
even attacked me in the street; but every ball 
does not reach its object—all may yet be well 
with me.*—And now go, children,” he added, 
softly. ‘Permit me, however, to press one fare- 
well kiss on the blooming cheeks of my nieces.” 

The two young ladies approached him, and, as 
the count bent over them, he said, with a tremor: 
“Thus death embraces life ! ” 

Dumont and Claviére were now announced. 
Madame de Saillant permitted this visit.on condi- 
tion that the gentlemen came only to see and not 
With this under- 


standing they entered, manifesting a profound 


to converse with her brother. 


sympathy. Dumont wished to take leave, intend- 


ing to return to Geneva. Mirabeau shook his 
friend’s hand, saying; “I have not yet been able 
to do any thing for your native city. The time 


given me has been shortened, and now I am about 


to seek a new fatherland, of whose constitution 
and government I am ignorant.” Dumont’s eyes 
were filled with tears. ‘“‘And you, my strong 
Claviére, who seem to be made of iron, do you 
still think that the assignats we drew on the con- 
fiseated church property will assist in making 
every one partisans of the revolution ? ” 

“My dear friend,” replied Claviére, with a 
trembling voice, and an unusual softness of man- 
ner, “‘ at present I am concerned about you only, 
for without you I care nothing for the subversion 
of governments. I have often been your oppo- 
nent, secretly and openly, but your powerful in- 
fluence, restraining the court and the Jacobins at 
the same time, has become a necessity! You are 
our guiding-star; when you expire, we stumble. 
Preserve your life to us, Mirabeau !” 

The count made a motion with his hand; he 
could not endure longer the presence of his 
friends, and both Genevans silently left the apart- 
ment, Other visitors afterward appeared, and 
among them his old friend Cabanis, whom he 


longed to see. He seemed to be infused with new 





* Montigny, vol. viii., p. 425. 


. public. 





269 


life when Cabanis was announced, and immediate- 
ly rose to meet his beloved physician, who, 
although of a different political creed, had 
never seriously come into collision with the 
count, keeping himself in comparative retire- 
ment from the troubles convulsing the coun- 
try. The doctor was in company with Cham- 
fort and Condorcet, whose presence greatly ex- 
cited Mirabeau, for he had not seen them for a 
long time, and he might have supposed them ma- 
liciously inclined. They looked as kindly upon | 
him as if he had but lately conversed with them 
in the old familiar style. The unforgotten past 
saluted him in Chamfort’s eyes; and from his lips 
he fancied he heard again the misanthropic jests, 
and the humanity-loving philosophy of other days. 
Mirabeau would have embraced him, but Cham- 
fort, overwhelmed by the change in the count’s 
appearance, did not appear to notice the move- 
ment toward him. Mirabeau ardently saluted the 
calm Condorcet, whose usual stoicism of manner 
gave way to sympathy, from the moment of his 
entrance. 

Cabanis inquired anxiously about his friend’s 
health, asking what effect his medicines had. Ob- 
serving no improvement, the physician lost him- 
self in melancholy musing. 

Mirabeau essayed to relieve the unpleasant si- 
lence by commencing a conversation. “Do we 
really at last have a revival of our former friendly 
intercourse, belonging as we do to different 
camps?” he asked. ‘I know you desire a re- 
Even Cabanis inclines to that ; and, after 
my death, I have no doubt he will become a stur- 
dy partisan of the extremists. However, you do 
not belong to those who think it necessary to hate 
me. I desire a monarchy, but one that cannot 
conflict with the interests of honor or of liberty. 
Only yesterday I declared to an influential friend 
that, if the king follows the advice of certain 
persons at court, and betakes himself to flight, I 
shall declare the throne vacant, and the republic 
inaugurated !” * 


“Only remain, Mirabeau!”’ said Chamfort, in a 





* La Marck, vol. i., ch. 1., p. 52. 


270 


low voice. ‘Your exertions alone can satisfuc- 
torily settle the question about a royal or a free 
government. You must not die, for, after your 
departure, men from whom we turn with abhor- 
rence will fancy themselves heroes, and then in- 
deed all is ruined.” 

“Yes!” exclaimed the count, shuddering. 
“When I go I take with me sorrow for the 
destruction of the monarchy—the parties will 
fight for its remains.”* A solemn pause suc- 
ceeded these words. ‘ My friends,” resumed Mir- 
abeau, almost cheerfully, “I feel as if we were still 
enjoying the same intimacy as when we used to 
meet in the drawing-rooms of Madame Helvetius 
at Auteuil, frankly exchanging our opinions. How 
is that dear old intellectual lady ? Why does she 
not send me a pigeon-post from her aviary, to 
bring me her regards?” 

“ She will visit you herself,” replied Chamfort. 

A deputation of the National Guards were an- 
nounced. When Madame de Saillant declared it 
impossible to admit them, they sent in a message 
to the effect that Mirabeau was elected their chief 
of battalion. 


sent him as a sign of his new office, placing it 


He smilingly contemplated the sash 


beside the other evidences of honor which were 
of late frequently presented him. 

The report of a cannon was heard. ‘“ Are they 
already beginning the funeral ceremonies of 
Achilles?” asked Mirabeau, breathing heavily. 
His friends soon after took leave of him, for he 
needed solitude and rest. 


CHAPTER XLV. 


THE DEATH OF MIRABEAU. 


THE morning of the 1st of April, 1791, dawned 
bright and balmy, bringing with it the voice of 
birds, and the flowery promises of spring. | Mira- 
beau had passed the night under the watchful 
care of Cabanis, who had a temporary bed near 


COUNT MIRABEAU. 


that of his dying friend; but the doctor could not 
sleep, for sometimes violent convulsions weak- 
ened his patient, and again came a sudden suspen- 
sion of breath, followed by a rattling in his 
throat and intense suffering. “On the preceding 
day the count’s consent was at length obtained, 
in accordance with Cabanis’s wishes, to consult 
Dr. Le Petit. 
bed, sent letters, urging Mirabeau to engage that 


Henriette, languishing on her sick- 


skilful physician, having herself been greatly as- 
sisted by his skill, since Cabanis was wholly occu- 
Coco had deliv- 
ered her communications, and by his tears showed 


pied with his old companion. 


_how well he understood the condition of his great 


father. 

Both physicians agreed that Mirabeau’s system 
had somehow absorbed poison, but the manner in 
which he ought to be treated was by no means 
When the count asked Dr. Le Petit to tell 
him frankly what his prospect of life was, the 


clear. 


doctor replied that no hopes could be reasonably 
entertained of recovery. Mirabeau immediately 
made his will in presence of La Marck, who re- 
quested him to mention the legacies he desired at 
once paid, and that, if the testator’s fortune did 
not suffice, he himself would advance what was 
needed. This offer was recognized with a grate- 
ful glance. The largest bequests were for Ma- 
dame de Nehra and Coco, but the former could 
scarcely hope to outlive the count. 

On this sunny spring morning, Mirabeau arose 
with surprising alacrity, and Cabanis, silently 
wondering, followed him to the window, which 
the dying man opened, so that the sun might shine 
in the chamber. His movements seemed like those 
in the days of his strength and activity; but his 
face had for days given signs of speedy death. 
“My friend,” he said, with a firm voice, “I die 
to-day! When one comes so near his transition, 
he need only be lulled by sweet music, and have 
his couch sprinkled with flowers, to pass away as 
in a pleasant dream to that slumber from which 
he never awakes!” * 

Cabanis endeavored to prevent the count from 





* “ Pemporte dans mon cceur le deuil de la monarchie 
dont les débris vont @tre la proie des factieux.”” 





* Cabanis, ‘‘ Journal de la Maladie de Mirabeau,” 
p. 806. 


f 


THE DEATH OF MIRABEAU. 


exposure to the cool breeze. “ Oh,” he replied, 
“ you are a great physician, but there is one greater 
than you—the Creator of the wind, that plays with 
the rose and uproots the pine; of the water, that 
penetrates and fructifies ; of the fire, that quickens 
and destroys. Call Him by what name you please 
—but this morning He decides my destiny, and 
makes me happy!” 

Seated in his easy-chair, the count looked smil- 
ingly out into his garden, where the sun in its 
splendor was beaming upon the trees bursting into 
leaf and flower. ‘See, Cabanis,” he said, “if 
that is not God Himself, it is certainly a good rep- 
resentative.” 

Mirabeau then sent for his valet de chambre, 
and ordered him to array his master in the richest 
toilet, such as he had not worn for a long time. 
When he was dressed his countenance seemed to 
say that he had fulfilled a duty and was satisfied, 
but death had placed his seal upon his brow’and 
there was no escape. He had a singular yearning 


to behold the human countenance, and begged 


Cabanis to admit all who came to see him. 

The first announcement was the royal messen- 
ger. The king had sent regularly every morning 
to inquire after the count’s health, and on this day 
did not fail. When once more alone with his 
physician, he said: “I pity Louis XVI. from my 
heart. It pains me to think of him—he is aban- 
doned and betrayed; among all those who sur- 
round him there is but one brave friend, and that 
is his wife!’ * 

A deputation from the Jacobin Club came next, 
to express their sympathy. The count hesitated 
a moment, but requested their admission. At their 
head was Barnave, who was so moved that he 
could not suppress his grief. Mirabeau felt that 
he had perhaps not always done justice to this 
opponent in the heat of debate and party passion ; 
he held out his hand, and Barnave could utter but 
few words. 

“ Ah,” said Mirabeau, “Iam almost sorry to 
leave life, since I find a friend so unexpectedly ! ”+ 
Then he looked searchingly at the rest of the dep- 





* “Te roi n’a qu’un homme, c’est sa femme.” 
+ Fissot, vol. ii., p. 284. 





271 


uties. “Zam sure you all came with a willing 
heart,” he said, saluting them. Presently he no- 
ticed that Alexandre Lameth was not among them, 
who was always considered his most violent enemy. 
“T know not why it is, but I should like to have 
seen my honorable opponent Lameth here,” he 
said, looking anxiously around. “Did he refuse 
to come?” aE 

“He felt a disinclination that we could not re- 
move,” replied Pétion. ‘The club selected him to 
visit you, but he refused.” 

“Well,” said Mirabeau, “I knew he was a 
strong party man, but I now discover that he is 
also a fool.” The feeling that thus overcame his 
mind in his last moments cast a dark and venge- 
ful shadow on his face. 

The next visitor surprised him. It was Talley- 
rand, the Bishop of Autun, who was acting as 
president of the National Assembly, and who came 
on their behalf as well as from his own personal 
regard. 

“Three times daily I have tried to gain access 
to you, my dear friend!” said Talleyrand, taking 
Mirabeau’s hand, with a graceful expression of 
sorrow. ‘But it was impossible in my carriage 
to reach you through the crowds around your 
house, so I was forced to be contented with the 
reports in the street respecting your health. The 
people are publishing printed bulletins about you; 
they are found at all public places in Paris.* It 
is dreadful to think that you are so ill; but if it 
is any consolation to be ‘an event,’ you may enjoy 
it to the utmost. It is of vast importance to all 
France that your health suffers. I notice that the 
citizens have barricaded the streets near your res- 
idence, that you. might not be disturbed by the 
passage of vehicles.” 

“Tam sorry you had to walk a part of the 
“ But Ithank you 
for your visit, and wish to be at peace with you 


way,” said Mirabeau, smiling. 


before my departure; for I hurt your feelings 
once unintentionally. Iam glad that the people 
throng around my house until my last breath. 
Ah, Talleyrand, they have deep feeling—they are 





* Montigny, vol. viii., p. 435. 


272 


worthy of our service, and that we do all in our 
power to make them free and happy It was my 
boast that I was useful to them during my life, 
and I feel how sweet it is to die in the midst of 
their loving'sympathy.” * 

“You have no time to die,” replied the bishop. 
“The weal of France depends on you!” 

“ You will live longer than I,” said Mirabeau, 
calmly. ‘¢ You will have much to perform in the 
world, and all material will be plastic in your 
hands. If ever you think of me, let it be your 
earnest endeavor to effect a close alliance between 


our country and England; in this union lies the 


only guaranty for the liberty and civilization of. 


the nations of the present day. Thisis my polit- 
ical testament, and I appoint you executor of it, 
as I have taken the liberty to do in other re- 
spects.” + ; 

Talleyrand kissed the dying count three times 
on the.cheek, saying that his emotion would not 
permit him to remain, and, promising to return 
on the following day, he quickly departed. 

Soon after Count de la Marck entered, request- 
_ing a private interview. Cabanis retired into an 
adjoining room, and La Marck began about a 
matter which had been spoken of a few days be- 
fore. Mirabeau knew what it was, and wasready 
with his answer: “ Your solicitude is well found- 
ed. I have a number of papers by whose publica- 
tion many persons would be most dangerously 
compromised, particularly those whom I would 
gladly save from any embarrassment. The wisest 
plan would be to destroy all those letters, but I 
cannot find courage for that, for they must justify 
my actions to posterity. I deliver them therefore 
to you, that you may disappoint our enemies, who 
are already waiting for them. You must promise 
me, however, that, if necessary, you will publish 
them in future; for it is reserved to your friend- 
ship thus to defend my memory!” t+ 

La Marck solemnly gave his hand to Mirabeau, 
receiving a key from him which opened a secret 
drawer of a closet, where were found the papers 





* Cabanis, p. 297. 
+ Montigny, vol. viii., p. 459. 
+ La Marck, vol. i., p. 956. 





COUNT MIRABEAU. 


referred to, carefully arranged and bound up, 
which he put into his pocket. 

While the two friends were still engaged in 
their confidential conversation, Mirabeau did not 
observe that near the door of his apartment Fixe 
several men and women, grouping themselves 
silently, not venturing to approach until he should 
request them. When he became aware of their 
presence, he rose and looked at them with sur- 
prise, while some were moving toward him. 

“Who are you?” he said. “Ob, I know you 
—those dearest to me during life. Are you there, 
Yet-Lee, my sweet friend? How pale you are! 
You have left your sick-bed to bring me the last 
And that is Coco, whom 
you are leading by the hand. Ah, you are Mira- 
beau’s ‘tribe!’ 
well!” 
with an agonizing ery, but he motioned her away. 

“And there are Chamfort and Condorcet! and 
yonder the Abbé Cerutti, who has a good heart — 
with an eloquent tongue!” continued Mirabean, 


greeting of your eyes. 


Farewell to both of you, fare- 
Henriette stretched her arm toward him 


looking at each as he named him. ‘You must 
preach my funeral sermon, Cerutti. Will you do 
so?” The abbé replied bya grave and sorrowful 
gesture. 

“Ah, and there is my old faithful friend, Ma- 
dame Helvetius!” he resumed, bowing to the 
lady, who was standing in tears in a corner of the 
room, holding the arm of Cabanis. 

La 


Marck whispered that the queen had sent the boy 


“ And who is that page ?” he asked again. 


to inform herself of the count’s health and ex- 
press her sympathy. ‘Oh, the queen!” he re- 
peated. “I would gladly lose my life to save 
hers !” 

The dying man’s eye rested upon Madame de 
Saillant, who now entered with another lady, 
clothed in black. 
claimed. “We always loved each other with 
great fidelity. And who is that with you?” He 


recognized his former wife, who saluted him from 


“There is my sister!” he ex- 


a distance in a reverential manner. He motioned 
his hand toward her, expressing his reconciliation. 
Mirabeau began now to totter; Cabanis and 


Chamfort assisted him back to his seat. ‘ And 


THE DEATH OF MIRABEAU. 


have you all come to crown me with the wreath 
of death?” he said, after a pause, in a very 
changed voice. “When I arose this morning I 
‘asked for music and flowers, and now you come 
to adorn me with the garland of love, and your 
farewell is sweet though sad music to my ears! 
Receive my thanks!” He was seized with 
spasms, complained of a strong pulsation, as of 
blows, in his head, and requested his physicians to 
give him opium. He spoke no more. Mirabeau 
was dead ! 

An incident occurring in Mirabeau’s house on 
the day of his death confirmed the suspicions 
awakened in reference to his illness and its fatal 
result. The count’s secretary was found in the 
garret, where he had made an attempt to hang 
himself. Some persons saw him ascend the stairs 
crying in great agony: “ Poison! poison! What 
acrime!” He was recalled to life, but pretended 
insanity, so as to avoid giving further informa- 
tion; but his secret connection with the Jacobins, 
and particularly with Alexandre Lameth, made 
him suspected. 

The reports increasing, and for the most part 
believed, induced the state attorney to insist on a 
post-mortem examination of the body. ‘Four of 


|. the physicians decid oy 









Py ge Ah 
“as. certain that_no” 
trace of any thing of the kind was present ; but 
these considered it their duty to reconcile all par- 


the system; four other 


ties, or at least not to render them more bitter 
against each other. Mirabeau’s family never had 
the least doubt that he was poisoned. 

The funeral procession gathered all ranks and 
parties—the members of the assembly, the royal 
troops, the citizen guards, and the people gener- 
ally. The coffin, decorated with military insig- 
nia and a civic crown, and preceded by priests 
chanting hymns of sorrow, was borne by twelve 
of the N ational Guards and four members of the 
Convention. Next, was carried the heart of the 
beloved patriot. The National Assembly and the 
whole Jacobin Club followed, with the exception 
The Abbé Cerutti delivered the 


funeral sermon in the church of St. Geneviéve, 


of one or two. 


where his remains were at first deposited. 

On the old monk’s altar, in the session-hall of 
the Jacobins, might have been long seen the bust 
of Mirabeau by the side of that of Rousseau and 
Helvetius ; and, at the request of the department 
of Paris, his body, soon after disinterred, was the 
first entombed within the walls of the Pantheon. 


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